


it's just me and you (looking down at the view)

by thesunandthestars



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: "Stuck in an airport because our flight was delayed" AU, Betty POV, F/M, betty and jug both speak literature, betty cooper loves jug's crooked smile TM and you can't convince me otherwise, first kisses!! yeah man, romanceeee because these babes are meant to be, some angst because they had crappy childhoods just like in canon, that's just how they flirt man i don't make the rules, this is pretty trope-y bc why not, what better place to find love than an airport amiright ;)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-02-10 00:55:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18649633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesunandthestars/pseuds/thesunandthestars
Summary: He looks like he wants to continue the conversation but doesn’t know what to say. Betty chews her lip for a beat, searching for something to talk about. It hits her, all of a sudden, that she still doesn’t know his name. “I’m Betty, by the way. Betty Cooper,” she pipes up, and his eyes flicker to hers again.“Jughead Jones,” he offers, and she raises an eyebrow skeptically. He nods, not surprised by her reaction. “The real thing is worse, trust me. Jughead’s been my nickname since I was a kid. Literally no one calls me by my real name.”When Betty Cooper arrives at the airport to find that her flight has been delayed several hours, she’s prepared for a very long day. Little does she know, she just might bump into someone that has the potential to turn it into a very good day indeed.[A “stuck at the airport because our flight is delayed” AU featuring Betty and Jughead.]





	1. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey again! Or if you’ve never read one of my fics before, welcome! <3
> 
> This is actually the first multi-chapter fic I’ve written/decided to post, and I hope you all enjoy it! I’ve been working on it since January of this year, when this stuck-in-the-airport-for-several-hours-with-a-delayed-flight debacle actually happened to me (minus the meeting Jughead Jones part, sadly), and I’m excited to finally post it!
> 
> Before we begin, I have a few quick things to say. One: yes, this is only four chapters long. I’m a busy gal, for one, and this is actually the longest fic I’ve ever written, if you can believe it. I know. I’m an amateur compared to those of you who start something and look up a few hours later and already have 10,000 words. (That might be an exaggeration, I don’t know. Some of you guys can just crank out those words like nobody’s business.) Two: thank you to my lovely beta-reader who doesn’t have an account on this site but has been reading my stuff for a while now and is a seriously talented writer herself. And, of course, an amazing, amazing friend. Love you! *kissy face* Three: I address Betty’s mental illness and the scars on her palms in parts of the story, but I am no means an expert so I’m extremely sorry if this is not an accurate representation by any means. This is not intended to romanticize or dramatize mental illness in any way, so please let me know if anything I wrote about it really bothers you. Thank you. 
> 
> If any of you out there are also Tangled fans and are squinting at the title of this fic thinking, “that seems familiar”, just know that yes, it is a line from the song View From Up Here from one of the Tangled: The Series/Rapunzel’s Tangled Adventure episodes. I thought it was fitting because it mentions two people looking down at the view, which is essentially what Betty and Jug are doing when they’re on the plane. :)
> 
> Thank you all in advance for giving this a try, and I hope you enjoy Betty and Jug’s airport (and post-airport) shenanigans! <3

**Chapter One**

Late. She’s going to be late. 

Betty Cooper races down the long hallway, rolling suitcase clicking behind her and purse bumping her hip with every step. The tantalizing scent of fresh coffee wafts toward her from the coffee shop to her right, but Betty runs right past it, ignoring the rumbling of her stomach as she curses herself for waking up late. 

Late is unacceptable. It’s a concept her mother drilled into her as early as she could walk. Betty Cooper doesn’t do late. The Cooper family doesn’t do late. 

Her flight to New York is scheduled to leave in twenty minutes, and here she is, practically flying through the terminal in order to catch the plane. Betty can’t believe she slept through her three A.M. alarm. She’s always been good at getting up early, and she never sleeps through the horrendous beeping that is her alarm. Whenever she travels, she always makes sure to leave plenty of time, either in the morning or the night before, to pack her bags. 

Or maybe she can believe it. She’d been up awfully late, first with helping her sister Polly corral the twins and then with finishing a paper for her journalism class at NYU. She’d finally tucked her laptop away around midnight and set her alarm. After getting plenty of sleep on vacation, apparently her body wasn’t okay with a measly three hours of sleep and decided to ignore her blaring alarm. Instead, Betty found herself rushing out the door at a quarter to four, hoping that she won’t miss her six-o’clock flight. It was a relief that it only took about twenty minutes to get from Polly’s house to LAX. 

Betty rounds the corner and spots her gate. She sighs loudly with relief as she approaches, noticing that there are still several people waiting for the flight. Most of the seats are full, actually, which surprises Betty. She was expecting a relatively empty flight, being that it’s five forty in the morning. But it’s the holiday season, so really it’s a no-brainer. Betty slows her pace and cranes her neck to search for an empty seat just as a chirpy voice sounds over the loudspeakers. 

“Passengers waiting for Omega Airlines flight 2971–” Betty glances at her boarding pass, and the big black numbers 2971 greet her “—we apologize for the delay. The plane will be arriving shortly and we can expect to begin boarding in an hour. Thank you for your patience.”

Well, there was no point in doing all that running, Betty thinks. She spots a seat near the window and makes her way over to it, maneuvering her suitcase around a backpack and a pair of kids playing with Legos in the aisle. She smiles at the kids, and their pink cheeks and toothy grins remind her of her niece and nephew, Juniper and Dagwood. 

Betty takes a seat in between an elderly man engrossed in a book and a tall, dark-haired woman with cat-eye glasses and an expensive-looking coat. Betty pulls her phone out to check the airline’s app, and she frowns when she taps her flight to find that the departure time has been changed to eight A.M. How far away is the plane, she wonders? Was it delayed to wherever it’s coming from as well?

Realizing that she has plenty of time to grab a cup of coffee and something to eat, Betty peeks over her shoulder at the coffee shop she passed on the way to her gate. It’s open, by the looks of it, and Betty’s eyes are threatening to slip shut, so she stands up and ignores the eyebrow raise she gets from the woman next to her. Once again dodging the children with Legos, Betty rolls her suitcase down the terminal to the coffee shop and looks around for a table. 

It’s an extremely small coffee shop, with only three tables. One is occupied by an elderly couple reading newspapers and sipping their mugs, one by a trio of youngsters and their exhausted parents, and the last by a man with a laptop and a beanie. Betty frowns, but heads over to the counter, deciding to head back to the gate after she orders her coffee. 

The barista is a friendly young woman with her short, red curls pulled out of her face by a headband. She smiles at Betty and takes her order, whipping up Betty’s latte in seconds. Betty thanks her politely and grabs the coffee, scanning the shop again to see if any of the tables are free. Nothing’s changed, however, and Betty finds herself wondering whether or not she should approach the man with the beanie and ask if she can sit. There’s an empty seat across from him, and he isn’t taking up much room with his laptop. She’s sure he’ll be happy to let her sit down. 

As she approaches, suitcase still clicking behind her, Betty notes that the man doesn’t look much older than her. He’s wearing a blue sherpa jacket and a lock of dark hair peeks out from under his beanie, which seems to be knit in the shape of a crown. He looks up when she reaches the table, surprise flashing across his face, and Betty is caught off-guard by the blue of his eyes.

“Sorry to bother you,” Betty says, offering him a polite smile. “Do you mind if I sit?” She gestures to the seat across from him with her free hand, and he follows her gaze. 

“Go ahead,” the man replies after a beat. His gaze flickers to her face and then falls back to his laptop, and he swallows like he’s nervous. Betty cocks her head slightly before taking a seat, wondering if he’s uncomfortable with her sitting here. She doubts it’s her, specifically, but rather a person in general. He strikes her as the quiet type—the person who’d sit alone at lunch in school and prefers solitude over company. The guy who’d be labeled as the loner. 

The second she thinks it, Betty mentally scolds herself. Who is she to judge him? She doesn’t even know him. Besides, she can see why someone would rather be alone than hang out with large crowds of people. She knows it’s nice to sit alone with your thoughts sometimes. Betty really only goes to parties with friends when her thoughts become too much to handle and her depression starts wrapping its fingers around her mind again. It’s a good distraction.

Taking a sip of her coffee and then setting it aside, Betty pulls out her laptop and logs on. The picture she took of her cat Butterscotch last summer greets her, and Betty smiles at the memory. She’s honestly relieved to be heading home. She loves Polly and the twins, and California is pretty, but Betty misses New York and Butterscotch and the little apartment she shares with her best friend Veronica. 

Betty checks the Omega Airlines app again, which still says departure at eight, and then quickly texts Veronica with the update. Her friend stayed in New York for the holidays, since her parents live at the Dakota building in Manhattan, so Betty’s not surprised when Veronica responds quickly with a _Bummer! Well, I’ll be here at home when you arrive!_ and a couple of heart emojis. 

The guy across from her is still typing furiously on his laptop, and Betty wonders what he’s doing. He could be writing a paper for school, just like she was last night. He looks around her age, after all. 

She wants to strike up a conversation, since she doesn’t really have anything to do and there’s still an hour and a half before she has to board, but she doesn’t want to disrupt him. He’s really focused and if he’s in college like she is, Betty knows that interrupting him could basically cost him his grade. 

Betty doesn’t even realize she’s been staring until the man looks up, eyebrows raised. “Sorry,” Betty murmurs, eyes dropping to her computer. The corner of his mouth quirks upward slightly, and Betty finds herself flushing. 

The guy shifts his gaze back to his laptop, but then seems to think better of it, and glances back at Betty. His eyes fall to her own laptop, and he raises an eyebrow. Betty frowns, wondering what about it warranted that reaction, but before she can open her mouth to ask, the man pipes up with, “You go to NYU?”

Betty peers over her laptop at the NYU sticker she knows is in the corner of her laptop lid. “Yeah,” she replies. “I’m a junior.” She looks back up at the man and his computer. He doesn’t have any stickers on his. “Are you in college too?”

He nods. “I go to NYU too, actually.” At this, Betty’s eyes widen incredulously. “I’m a senior, though.”

“What’s your major?” Betty’s intrigued now, and she takes another sip of her latte before returning her attention to the man across from her. 

“Journalism,” he says simply, chuckling when Betty gasps in delight. “I’m going for my bachelor so I can try to publish my novel.”

“Your novel!” Betty exclaims. “How exciting!” She smiles warmly, and she doesn’t miss the way a blush creeps up his cheeks. “My major is journalism too, but I’m studying to be a journalist. My parents ran the paper back home for my entire childhood, and I worked on the school newspaper every year starting in fifth grade. It’s in my blood.” She bites her lip bashfully, and he gives her that crooked smile again. She rather likes that smile, Betty finds, and she hopes over the next hour she can earn it a few more times. 

“I’m not surprised we haven’t met before, honestly,” the man admits after a beat. “NYU’s a big school.”

“Even though we have the same major?” Betty teases, and is pleased when his lips twitch in reply. 

“Even though we have the same major,” he agrees. 

He looks like he wants to continue the conversation but doesn’t know what to say. Betty chews her lip for a beat, searching for something to talk about. It hits her, all of a sudden, that she still doesn’t know his name. “I’m Betty, by the way. Betty Cooper,” she pipes up, and his eyes flicker to hers again. 

“Jughead Jones,” he offers, and she raises an eyebrow skeptically. He nods, not surprised by her reaction. “The real thing is worse, trust me. Jughead’s been my nickname since I was a kid. Literally no one calls me by my real name.”

“Betty’s a nickname too,” Betty admits. “My real name’s Elizabeth, but only my mom calls me that.” She has no idea why she’s telling a stranger these things, but it feels right. Betty’s not sure if it’s because they go to the same school and have the same major, or if it’s something else. Jughead seems nice, and he’s definitely easy on the eyes. Betty doesn’t define people by their looks, but she just feels like she has to acknowledge his attractiveness. He’s tall and lanky in a way that she likes, and she has to admit that the crown beanie covering his sleek raven hair _works_. Plus, there’s something about his eyes that draw her in. 

She wonders, briefly, if he’s thinking similar things about her. 

“Elizabeth, huh?” His lips curl upward. “Mine’s worse.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it was a competition.” Betty’s vaguely that this may be considered flirting, but she couldn’t care less. She likes how easy their conversation is. It’s been a while since she’s been so comfortable with someone so quickly. 

“Is it?” Jughead cocks his head. “I certainly wasn’t insinuating that it was. There’s no need for competition, when it’s obvious I’d win.”

She’s enjoying this game. “Why don’t you tell me what this terrible, horrible name of yours is? Gotta level the playing field, don’t you think?”

Jughead hums in reply, leaning his elbows on the table and his chin on his hands. “My name is legendary. Mere mortals cannot handle it.”

Betty gasps, pretending to be scandalized. “Are you saying that I’m a mere mortal? That I’m lowly and you’re all high and mighty?”

“Oh no, _Elizabeth_ ,” he replies, drawing out her name. “Only goddesses are as beautiful as you.” He looks shocked that those words came out of his mouth, and Betty knows that he means it—that he finds her attractive—and she finds herself blushing even as she prepares a response of her own. “Perhaps you deserve to know my real name,” Jughead continues, before Betty can reply. 

Betty sticks her bottom lip out, pouting. “Please? I promise not to make fun of you.” Her voice is teasing, but she means it. 

Jughead falters, all of a sudden unsure. Betty’s quick to apologize for pushing it. His name may be a sensitive subject, and she hopes she didn’t just make him uncomfortable. “I’m sorry,” she blurts. “You don’t have to tell me. I understand.” Betty knows exactly what it feels like to have a deep secret you’re hesitant to share. 

“It’s fine, Betty,” he replies, completely sincere. “Really.” He offers her a small smile, and she’s relieved. “Alright,” he continues, smile turning smug, “drum roll please.”

Betty scoffs but does as he says, patting her palms against the table. The elderly couple behind her glances over, confused, but Betty ignores them and watches as Jughead leans in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. 

“Forsythe Pendleton Jones the Third.”

Betty isn’t sure if he’s being serious at first. If he isn’t, she has to applaud him for coming up with that ridiculous name. But if he is…

“I wish I was kidding,” Jughead says, obviously noting her skepticism. He sighs. “My dad goes by FP, and I go by Jughead. My grandfather didn’t bother with a nickname and went by Forsythe.”

“Huh.” Betty’s surprised. She was sure he was exaggerating before. After all, she hadn’t seen that coming. And she knows some pretty bad names. One of her best friends is an Archibald (goes by Archie), and one of Archie’s best friends is a Reginald (goes by Reggie). Betty’s always thought their names were beyond ridiculous. But _Forsythe Pendleton_? The _third_? No wonder he goes by Jughead. “That certainly is a mouthful.”

“It is,” Jughead agrees, fingers hovering over his keyboard out of habit. “Now you know why I go by a ridiculous childhood nickname.”

“It’s not ridiculous,” Betty assures him, surprised to find that it’s the truth. “I think it’s kind of endearing. And it has a nice ring to it.” She drops her gaze, his curious blue eyes making her feel bashful all of a sudden. “Jughead Jones,” she murmurs, tasting the name on her lips, and Jughead’s mouth twitches in reply. 

Betty’s phone chimes suddenly and she reaches for it, unsurprised to see Veronica’s name pop up on the screen. _I invited Reggie over for dinner. Just letting you know._

Betty rolls her eyes. It’s not so much the fact that Reggie, who fits every single stereotype of a jock Betty can think of (and whom she’s had the misfortune of knowing since they were both in diapers), is going to eat dinner at her apartment, but the fact that Veronica was the one to invite him, which can only mean one thing: they’re dating. 

It’s been five years since Veronica showed up at Riverdale High their sophomore year and immediately became best friends with Betty, and in that time Veronica has managed to date almost every single boy they went to school with. Betty loves her best friend, but she’s not a huge fan of Reggie, and so she can only hope their relationship doesn’t last any longer than it did when they dated their junior year. (That was actually one of Veronica’s longer relationships, though it only lasted a month. The record is held by Archie Andrews, who dated Veronica on and off for several years and who is Betty’s other best friend.)

 _I’ll cook something when I get home_ is Betty’s reply. Everyone who knows Veronica Lodge knows that she can’t cook to save her life, and Reggie’s their guest, so Betty will have to whip something up. She’ll have plenty of time after her flight to unpack and make dinner for the three of them. 

Veronica sends a _Thanks, B_ and a heart emoji a few seconds later, and Betty ends the conversation with a quick _No prob_ before turning off her phone and sipping at her latte. 

Jughead’s watching her, she notices, and it’s because their conversation was so rudely interrupted by Veronica’s evening plans. “Sorry,” Betty offers, sighing. “That was my best friend. She’s having her boyfriend over to our apartment for dinner but didn’t think to let me know until all the plans were made.”

A knowing smile turns the corner of Jughead’s mouth. “So you’re going to have to make some last minute plans to give them some privacy, I’m guessing?”

Betty groans. “No, actually. It’s worse. I’m staying home, but I have to cook.”

At Jughead’s incredulous look, she sighed. “Veronica is the worst at cooking. Seriously. Unless she wants to make boxed mac n cheese for her date, she’s going to need me there.”

Jughead chuckles at that, shaking his head. “That’s rough. I guess I’ve been taking my best friend’s mediocre cooking skills for granted.”

“You have no idea,” Betty continues, taking a big gulp of her now lukewarm latte. “Veronica’s very wealthy, so she’s never really had to do anything for herself. Even after she moved to Riverdale—that’s where I grew up—our sophomore year, she and her parents stayed in this really nice hotel and so she had a butler and maids and whatnot.” Realizing that she’s just been complaining about her best friend this whole time, Betty quickly adds, “No offense to her, though. I love her, but she’s definitely high-maintenance.”

“Sounds like it.” Jughead’s own phone dings, and Betty watches as he digs it out of his coat pocket and frowns at the screen before evidently typing a reply to someone. “That was _my_ best friend,” he says after he’s tucked his phone away, smiling at the coincidence. “She spent her break in Malibu with her girlfriend, and decided she just _had_ to send me pictures to make me jealous.”

Betty tilts her head. “You don’t seem like the kind of guy to wish he was in Malibu.” She slaps a hand over her mouth the second the words escape her mouth. God, Betty, she scolds herself inwardly. Just because he’s got a dark and mysterious vibe doesn’t mean he doesn’t enjoy the sun and the sand. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to assume…”

“It’s fine,” he assures her, perfectly honest. “And you’re right. It’s not about Malibu, specifically, but the fact that she got to avoid her family on break and I had to face mine head-on.”

Betty bites her lip. She knows a thing or two about family difficulties. There was never a dull day in the Cooper household, after all. 

“Speaking of family,” Betty starts, “you said you were visiting them. Where in California do they live?”

“Actually, only my little sister lives here. She’s only lived in LA for six months, since she packed her bags and left Florida as soon as she could after graduating high school last year.” He pauses, gaze flickering to the side, no doubt trying to decide how much he’s comfortable with telling her. Betty doesn’t blame him. She knows how hard it is to have a dysfunctional family. “She grew up with my mom, and I grew up with my dad. Well, really, I grew up with friends. My dad was hardly ever sober, so I avoided his trailer as much as possible.” He shakes his head like he’s trying to push the memories away. “Anyway, for the holidays we all flew out to visit her from our various corners of the country—I live in New York City, my dad lives in the same small town he and I both grew up in, and my mom lives in Florida.” He gives her a weak smile, and shifts in his seat. Betty can tell he’s done talking about himself, at least for now. “What about you? What brings you to the Golden State?”

“My sister lives here too, actually.” She laughs at both the coincidence and at Jughead’s dramatic tone, and is pleased to see Jughead’s crooked smile return. “She’s older than me, though. She lives in San Francisco with her two kids, who are five and are a handful.” Betty smiles fondly. “Living in San Francisco’s good for them, I think. My sister, Polly, is doing much better out here, too. Riverdale holds lots of memories, good and bad, and Polly has a lot more of the latter kind.” She bites her lip. “I do too.”

Jughead nods like he knows exactly how she feels, but Betty knows there’s no way he could. She had an extremely messed-up childhood, and she knows it. At sixteen, she single-handedly took down a serial killer, who, once he was unmasked, turned out to be her own father. It’s kind of a miracle she’s as sane as she is, honestly. 

But it sounds like Jughead’s childhood wasn’t so hot, either. Maybe he’s just as damaged as she is.

Jughead closes his laptop and stands, and for a second Betty thinks he’s leaving. She’d assumed he was on the same flight as her, since he lived in New York City as well, but maybe not. There are probably dozens of flights to New York today. But Jughead merely nods toward the counter where the barista from before is serving a customer and says, “I’m going to get something to eat. Would you like something?”

It’s then that she realizes she hasn’t eaten anything yet. Betty shoots up in her seat and stuffs her hand in her purse, searching around for her wallet. “Yes, actually,” she replies, grateful that he said something. She doubts she would have eaten before her flight if he hadn’t, having been so distracted in talking to him. 

His eyes drop to the hand that’s deep in her purse and he steps closer, hand hovering around hers like he wants to put it on her arm but doesn’t know if he’s allowed to touch her at this point in their relationship. “I got it, Betty. Don’t worry.”

Her head snaps up. “Oh my gosh, Jughead.” He’s offering to buy her food a half an hour after they met? Either he’s blatantly flirting with her, or he’s just being polite. Or maybe Betty needs to stop overthinking everything. “Airport food is so expensive. I can’t let you.”

His mouth hangs open like he wants to insist, but he grimaces after a second. “You know, that’s probably a good idea. My wallet isn’t bottomless.” Jughead tries to laugh it off, but Betty knows that he’s hinting at the fact that money’s tight. She understands. They’re college students, after all. 

She emerges from her purse victorious, and Betty follows Jughead to the counter, wallet in hand. The woman that was ordering when Betty glanced over is now waiting for her drink, so Jughead strolls right up to the counter and the barista hands the woman her coffee and whips around to help Jughead. “Hi, what can I get for you two today?”

Jughead’s eyebrows knit together for a split second before he glances over his shoulder at Betty. “Oh, no, we’re not… we’re not together.”

The barista, whose name tag says _Hi, I’m Ethel!_ gasps. “You’re not? You should be. Romeo and Juliet, am I right?”

Betty peers up at Jughead, knowing exactly why the barista compared them to the famous couple. Jughead, with his dark jacket and lock of dark hair falling into his eyes, and Betty, all pretty and bubblegum pink, still the same kind of girl she’s been trying to escape the past five years. They’re definitely an odd pairing. 

“Let’s hope it doesn’t end in disaster,” Jughead teases, and Betty feels a smile make its way onto her face. He’s joking, she knows, but she can’t help but notice how he says _it_ like there’s something between them. Maybe, someday, there could be. Betty knows the probability of them ever seeing each other after today is close to zero, but she likes Jughead and for some reason she’s drawn to him, more so than she’s ever been drawn to someone before. 

If there’s such thing as fate, Betty thinks that meeting him might be it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, you made it to the end of the first chapter! I hope you enjoyed. Next chapter, Betty and Jug are going to play a little game to get up close and personal. Just so we can all explore their backstories a bit more. :)
> 
> As I edited this I realized I used specific brands for literally everything except for the airline, which I made up to avoid saying a specific one and looking like a. someone's paying me to reference their airline, or b. I'm ignoring all that copyright business. But for everything else I just flat-out used a brand. Whoops. Sorry Apple (I actually don't mention that their laptops are MacBooks until chapter three), NYU, all of the airports I mentioned (JFK, John Glenn Columbus, LAX, etc.) the Dakota building, etc. But I'm not profiting from this story so I'm sure it's not a big deal. 
> 
> Also, wow is Betty already pining for this guy. I mean, who can blame her? Jughead is (opinion time) definitely my favorite guy on the show. Him being played by the wonderful Cole Sprouse only makes me love him more. <3 But anyway, back to the point: it's only going uphill from here in terms of Betty's infatuation. And no, none of this story is going to be in Jughead's POV, but, if you couldn't already tell, he's falling in love with her too. :)
> 
> Thanks again for giving me your time and I'll see you next week!! xx


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, here goes chapter two! I’m planning on updating this story every week, which means I’m posting a new chapter every Tuesday (the day I posted the first chapter). Hope you enjoy the little game of five questions I’ve come up with!
> 
> Read on, and I hope you enjoy! <3

**Chapter Two**

It’s 8:02 A.M. and Betty’s glancing confusedly at her phone, eyes flickering back and forth between the time at the top of her screen and the words _Departure: 8:00 A.M._ on the Omega Airlines app. She still hasn’t heard an announcement to start boarding the plane and the app still hasn’t updated, which at this point is necessary. 

She reloads the page a third time and is both relieved and annoyed to see that the flight has been pushed back to nine thirty. Just as her eyes scan the words she hears the same voice from before over the loudspeaker. “We are currently waiting on the maintenance crew for Omega Airlines flight 2971. Departure time is expected to be nine thirty A.M. Again, we apologize for the delay.”

Betty groans, and from across the table Jughead meets her gaze. “Great,” Betty sighs, slumping in her side of the booth. “They’re _waiting_ on the maintenance crew. We’ll be lucky if we get out of here by ten.”

There is one positive to being stuck in this airport, though: getting to spend more time with Jughead. Over the past two hours, Betty’s found that she really likes him and his humor and that funny beanie on his head. She was glad when she found out they were on the same flight, even if they don’t have seats remotely close to one another, because it means she can spend every last minute in this airport with him. It’s kind of crazy how enraptured Betty is after two hours, but she’s always been a hopeless romantic and secretly loves how cliché and trope-y this whole situation is. Being stuck in an airport for several hours with a really cute and funny guy? It’s a dream come true. 

And Betty thinks he likes her back. He’s opened up her about his alcoholic father and his mostly absent mother, and his smiles are a lot more genuine when directed at her. Betty knows she’s attractive in a pretty, pink, girl-next-door kind of way, but guys have never looked at her quite like Jughead does.

Betty’s phone is currently pinging at a very impressive speed, and she knows without even looking at the screen that Veronica is the one texting her. Her best friend is no doubt asking for updates on the delayed flight situation and texting in her signature style: no more than a sentence per text. 

Jughead’s eyes are on Betty’s phone now, looking like he’s not sure whether to ignore it or reach over and turn the ringer off himself. Betty sighs and picks it up, and sure enough, there are dozens of messages from Veronica. What is surprising, though, is that there’s one from Polly as well, the same girl who refuses to get a TV for her house and has the cheapest flip phone ever only because Betty insisted she get one to communicate with. 

She opens the text from Polly, knowing that she’ll probably lose her mind reading the zillions of texts from Veronica, and coos at the screen when she opens the message to see a picture of Juniper and Dagwood sitting on a towel in the sand, the sparkling California waters in the background. Jughead raises an eyebrow at her reaction, and Betty hands Jughead her phone to show him the picture. If he thinks that it’s weird that she’s showing him pictures of her niece and nephew two hours into their…acquaintance-ship (if that’s even a word), he doesn’t comment. He merely smiles his lopsided smile and hands the phone back to her. “They’re pretty cute,” he murmurs.

“They are,” she agrees, “but they’re little devils.” At that Jughead chuckles, and Betty grins. “Okay, maybe not, but they are very mischievous. Much like someone I know,” she adds, giving him a pointed look. 

Jughead groans. “You’re still holding that over me, aren’t you.”

“Yes I am!” Betty exclaims, only feigning exasperation. “How was I supposed to know you were going to offer to buy me food, and when I turned you down you would seek revenge by stealing some of the food I bought with my own money?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he retorts, smirking. “I steal everyone’s food.”

“And I thought I was special,” Betty pouts, giving him her best kicked puppy look. Jughead merely chuckles fondly and glances out the window to his right like he’s done a million times in the past hour. They have a good view of the plane they’re supposed to take from here in the booth, and Betty knows Jughead’s getting anxious for the airport personnel to let the passengers board. He has plans for the evening (she’s assuming—he hasn’t mentioned any), as does she, and airports aren’t exactly the most enjoyable place to hang out for more than an hour, even with good company. 

Betty watches as Jughead picks up his ridiculously overpriced turkey sandwich and take a huge bite, eyes still trained on his laptop screen. That’s another thing she’s learned about him: he loves food (which explains why he had stolen a fry from her earlier. Or maybe he was just flirting. Or both.) He’ll snack all day and he’ll eat just about anything. He’d told her that when he was really little, his mom used to joke that he was going to eat them out of the house. It was laced in truth, though—growing up, his family owned a beat-up trailer and there were often unpaid bills taped to the fridge. (His dad still lives in said trailer, he’d told her, but he didn’t clarify if the unpaid bills thing is still happening.)

“I have an idea,” Betty blurts suddenly, wanting more than anything to learn more about this beautiful, humorous, understanding man in front of her. “Let’s play a game.”

Jughead’s gaze flashes to hers, surprise written across his features. He swallows the bite of sandwich he’s currently working on and licks his lips, the ghost of a smile flickering across his mouth. “Go on.”

“It’s called Five Questions,” Betty begins, propping her elbows on the tabletop as she explains the game. “You ask me a question, and I answer it. We go back and forth, asking and answering. And no follow-up questions. You ask, I answer, then we move on.” Betty lowers her voice and leans forward, delighted by the way Jughead’s eyes drop to her lips. “You in?”

He follows her movement, leaning in as well until there’s no more than a few inches between them. He’s close enough that she can smell him; warm and so _him_. When he replies, she gets distracted by the soft pink of his lips. “Are you?”

“Yes.” Jughead’s gaze is trained on _her_ lips, and when she utters that single word Betty swears that something in his eyes shifts. Suddenly there’s a bonfire blazing between them, and Betty’s so shocked that she pulls away. 

She recovers quickly, however, and conjures up a playful smile. She is so goddamn attracted to him, and there’s no way he can ever know. “Alright,” she drawls, ignoring the way her heart is pounding and ignoring how Jughead grins and rubs his hands together playfully in anticipation. “You first.”

“Okay.” He’s looking at her again, _really_ looking, and for a second Betty swears he’s about to ask her how she feels about him. (What can she say, anyway? If you must know, I just met you a few hours ago but I am so unbelievably attracted to you. It should be illegal, how attractive you are to me.) Instead, he asks simply, “What’s your favorite color?”

It takes her a moment to process his words, because she was not expecting such a simple and _innocent_ question. “Are you sure that’s the question you want to ask me? You’ve only got five of them.”

“Yes, Betty, that’s the question I’d like to ask.” At her raised eyebrow, he laughs. “Seriously. I’m extremely interested in your answer to this question. I could write an entire novel about how much I want to know the answer. If you don’t tell me right now what your favorite color is, I think I’m going to die.”

“Okay, okay. I get it.” She’s laughing now. “God, you’re so dramatic.”

“I had no idea,” he deadpans, and the only indication that he’s joking is the slight twitch of his mouth when Betty rolls her eyes playfully. 

“My favorite color is green,” she replies finally, “because, on the color wheel, it’s opposite the perfect pink I’ve been manicured to be my whole life. It’s everything I’ve never been allowed to be.” She’s never really thought about it, but it feels right. “Yeah. Green,” she repeats confidently, chin held high. 

“Like your eyes,” Jughead murmurs, and their gazes lock. “Good choice.” 

Betty’s flushing now, and she’s thinking that maybe _his_ eyes are her new favorite color but there’s no way she’s telling him that. 

“My turn.” She thinks for a moment, wondering what about Jughead she’d really like to know. “You said you’re writing a novel. What’s it about?”

“It’s a murder mystery,” Jughead responds after a beat, tone guarded. Betty has a feeling he doesn’t tell many people about his novel. She wonders if he’s afraid she’ll judge him. “It’s set in a small town, where a teen goes missing, and when he turns up dead a few weeks later, two of his schoolmates set out to find his killer.”

Betty hums in reply, wanting to know more but knowing that if she asked she’d be breaking her own rule. The only rule of the game. “It sounds good,” she admits. She’s always been a big fan of mysteries—she was obsessed with Nancy Drew as a kid. 

(Once upon a time, she’d even solved a mystery on her own. But the look in her father’s eyes as he explained to Betty and her mother who he was and why he’d done what he did had opened up a wound that still has yet to heal. On that day Betty decided that she was okay with reading about mysteries, but she would never be willing to solve another one herself.)

“Betty?”

His voice shakes her out of her thoughts, and Betty blinks once to remind herself that she’s still here, talking to Jughead. “Yeah,” she says. 

“Where’d you grow up?” It’s a simple question. The answer is easy, and yet there are so many memories attached that Betty has to ground herself before answering. Her fists are clenched under the table, nails pressing into her palms and resting in the crescent-shaped grooves that have been there for years. (She doesn’t dig her nails in anymore—she knows that it’s a dangerous coping mechanism and she hasn’t opened the wounds for several years now. Now she simply presses her nails against the soft ridges that have resulted from the action, which reminds her to stay calm.) She’s surprised no one has pointed them out before. Maybe no one’s noticed. Or maybe no one cares enough to confront her about the scars of her illness. 

“Riverdale,” she says after a long pause, voice barely above a whisper. She can tell that he heard her, however, by the way his head tilts slightly, inviting her to continue. “It’s a small town a few hours from New York City. I was born there and left eighteen years later.” Betty exhales long and slow, and reminds herself to unclench her hands. She rests them, palms down, on her thighs. “I’ve only been back one time since, and by the looks of it, the town I knew as a teenager is no more. That’s a good thing,” she adds, noting his furrowed brow. “It’s calmed down since I left, apparently.” She has to force a smile, but to her surprise it’s a little bit easier to talk to Jughead about it than it has been with anyone else. He’s patient and listening, and the look on his face holds no pity. Instead, looking into his eyes, she finds empathy. 

“What about you?” Betty asks after a few beats. Jughead’s gaze is locked on something out the window, but at Betty’s words he refocuses on her. “Where’re you from?”

“Toledo,” he answers. “Apparently we’re both from small New York towns.” He smiles a little at the coincidence, and Betty can’t help but giggle at how crazy it is that she’s met someone whom she has so much in common with. At an airport, of all places. “As I’ve said already,” Jughead continues, “I grew up with my dad in a trailer park. My mom and my sister lived there too until they left late one night for Florida to live with my grandparents. I was eight.” Betty’s heart aches for him. She may have a serial killer for a father, yes, but what Jughead went through? Waking up one morning and finding out that his mother had left him without saying goodbye? That’s a whole other type of pain altogether. She wonders if he blamed himself for it all. “It’s been practically a decade and a half and none of us have quite forgiven each other. It makes the holidays pretty awkward, to be honest.” He sighs wistfully. “But it’s not JB’s fault. I could never blame her.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, not knowing what to say. She’s terrible at comforting people, even if she really does know how they feel. The look on Jughead’s face tells her that he understands her plight, however, and that he’s grateful for what words of comfort he can get.

“My turn, right?” She can tell he’s well aware that it’s his turn, and that he only asked to break the uncomfortable silence. Betty nods in reply.

Jughead thinks for a few beats, head cocked to one side as he studies her. Betty feels her cheeks beginning to heat again. What is it with Jughead and his ability to make her so flustered? She’s dated before, sure, and she’s kissed boys before. (She even made out with Chuck Clayton in the back of his station wagon in their junior year just because. So there, Alice Cooper.) It’s not like she’s never seen a handsome guy before, and felt that pleasant flutter in her stomach. But there’s such a strong pull between her and Jughead, a magnet of attraction. That flutter is a full-on swarm of butterflies, a lightning storm. And it goes both ways, she thinks—he was definitely bewildered when she asked to sit, eyes wide as he scanned her face. And she’s becoming familiar with that soft, fond look he gives her like the sight of her makes him melt a little.

Betty doesn’t know what she’s going to do with herself. She’s stuck in an airport, pining after some guy she just happened to meet a few hours ago. And if the look he’s giving her right now is any indication, he’s pining too.

He finds his question a few beats later, and his voice is hesitant, like he’s unsure if he’s allowed to ask her this. “What’s one thing that even your closest friends don’t know about you?” 

Betty’s first reaction to his words is to suck in a nervous breath, to which Jughead grimaces and says, “I can choose another question, if that’s too personal.” She shakes her head at him reassuringly, but he lets out an exasperated breath and continues. “I’m sorry, Betty. I’m honestly just so bad at this,” he admits, gesturing between the two of them. Betty isn’t sure if he means having such a long conversation with someone or more specifically a pretty girl who flusters him. 

“It’s fine,” she answers, even as she clenches her fists again and feels the little grooves in her palms that have been scarred over for a while now. She’s never shown her scars to anyone; not on purpose, at least. They are such a blatant reminder of how, deep down, she’s not that perfect, pastel pink girl everyone assumes she is. She thinks that if anyone were to see the cuts in her palms, they’d be utterly confused and maybe even disgusted. She’s the innocent girl-next-door down to the bone. If she gave anyone evidence that this was not the case, that she’s not as one-dimensional as they all think—she doesn’t even want to know what would happen. She doesn’t think anything less than a rip in the space-time continuum could occur. 

But there’s hope blossoming in her chest as she thinks about what would happen if she told Jughead. Worst case scenario, it gets awkward. She can handle that. It’s not like they’ll ever see each other again, not after today. But Betty has a feeling he won’t be disturbed by her darkness. He’s been nothing but accepting of everything that she’s told him, and she has a feeling he’ll get it. Not just in a sympathetic way, but _really_ get it. She has a hunch that he has a similar kind of darkness inside him, one that he, like her, tries desperately to hide from the world. He’s told her about his family issues, and she knows firsthand no one can come out of something like that without scars. Without deep, hidden secrets and fears that might never see the light.

Betty uncurls her hands slowly, and, bringing them above the table, she turns her palms toward him, showing her scars to another person for the first time. Jughead reacts differently than she’d expected—his eyes don’t widen, and he doesn’t drop his gaze awkwardly. Instead, his head tilts slightly to the side, and his eyes soften with knowing as he looks at her like he just found the last piece of the puzzle that is Betty Cooper. He looks at her like he finally _gets_ her, fully and completely. He knows why she acts the way she does and why she says what she does. It’s such a relief that she chuckles wetly, turning her palms back toward herself and suddenly, she doesn’t see pain and suffering. She sees the evidence of her fight, her courage, the way she’s standing tall after the storm. She sees light instead of dark and thinks maybe, just maybe, she can be proud of who she is.

The realization is so startling that she’s breathless for a beat, but she’s embarrassed by the intensity of her reaction so Betty fights the urge to blush and racks her brain for a way to change the subject. She can’t believe that she’s sitting here in an airport, showing this man, who’s practically a stranger, her deepest secret, and feeling like she might be falling for him. It’s absurd, and Betty’s embarrassed that she feels this way. 

“Wait,” she says breathlessly, remembering the game they’re playing. It had completely slipped her mind for a minute. She plucks her phone out of her purse and does a quick Google search: _questions to ask to really get to know someone._ She clicks the first link and scrolls down the article until she finds something she likes. “What’s the most annoying question people ask you?” 

Surprise flashes across his face briefly, and Betty knows it’s not about the question but rather the way that she brushed off her reaction to _his_ reaction to her scars. But he recovers quickly. “There are a lot, honestly. But the worst is, ‘what’s with your hat?’” He rolls his eyes. “It’s not really the question itself, but the way people say it. And the fact that I can’t go anywhere without at least one person asking it.” He reaches up and touches the knitted fabric as if it’s a habit, though Betty hasn’t seen him do it once yet.

“What _is_ the story behind your hat, if you don’t mind me asking?” Betty’s curious about it, honestly. She’s never seen one like it and wonders if it was made just for him. Given the fact that he’s already told her that money was tight growing up, it’s very likely.

He waggles a finger at her. “Uh uh, Betty Cooper,” he says, his lopsided grin back full-force. “No follow-up questions, remember? I can’t have you breaking your own rule.” She huffs in annoyance (but she’s not truly annoyed. She has yet to be even the slightest bit annoyed at him.) “But since you asked so kindly—” his smile is teasing, but Betty knows he really is glad someone decided to be polite about it for once “—I’ll tell you.” His gaze is hovering somewhere past her shoulder, but she can tell he’s in his own head. “My mom knitted it for me, actually. It was a present for my fifth birthday. It was way too big when I first got it, but that didn’t stop me. I practically haven’t taken it off since.”

“Oh really?” She can feel her mouth shift into a grin. “So you wear it when you’re sleeping? When you shower?”

She immediately regrets that she even _insinuated_ anything about him taking a shower when very unwelcome images flash before her eyes. (Well, they’re not actually unwelcome. _Very welcome_ , as a matter of fact. Betty almost gasps out loud, scandalized by her own mind and wondering why the hell she's thinking these things.) Jughead looks shocked as well, but his crooked grin returns and he fixes her with an amused look and teases, “Now, now, Betty, no follow up questions!” He cocks an eyebrow playfully. “That’s funny. I didn’t peg you as a rule-breaker.” 

She huffs in faux-annoyance, and waits for him to actually answer her question. (Not that she needs an answer. Showering with a hat on is absolutely absurd, and plus, his hair is way too glossy and soft-looking for that to be the case.) But Jughead’s already moving on, gaze cast to the side as he searches for a question. “What’s the most admirable quality about each of your closest friends?”

Betty worries at her lip for a beat, deep in thought. She’s friendly with quite a few people but doesn’t have many super close friends. Veronica and Archie are the only ones she knows from Riverdale, and she hasn’t particularly clicked with anyone in college. That isn’t to say she hasn’t met anyone that she enjoys spending time with—there’s a girl in Veronica’s Women’s History class named Josie who’s sweet and has a very infectious laugh, and Midge from the apartment across the hall is a great study partner. But socializing isn’t high on Betty’s to-do list, and so the only people that she really knows—and who really know her—are Veronica and Archie, both of whom she sees regularly since they also go to NYU. 

She decides to start with Veronica, though she’s known Archie much longer. “Veronica, my best girl friend, is…a lot. She’s high-maintenance, like I said earlier.” A smile slips past her lips. “One of the things I love most about her, though, is her passion. If she wants something to happen, she will do anything and everything she can until it happens. And she’s fiercely protective when it comes to her friends. Just know, if you ever did anything to hurt me, Veronica would come for your head.” She chuckles. “Not that I think you would, I’m just using you as an example,” she adds, when his eyebrows shoot upward. “I just really admire that about her. She’s so determined. If someone were to get in her way…” She drags her hand through the air in front of her throat, miming being beheaded.

Jughead’s lips quirk, and he chuckles softly. “Note to self: don’t get on Veronica’s bad side.” 

Betty laughs softly in return. Her stomach flutters at his words, at the insinuation that he’s going to meet Veronica someday. Meet her friends, be a part of her life. Betty hops back on the right track before she can let her mind wander any further. “My other best friend is Archie—” recognition flashes in Jughead’s eyes but it’s gone just as quickly as it appeared “—who I met on the first day of kindergarten.” Betty’s lips curl into a smile at the memory. “He’s kind of a doofus, but I still love him. He’s always had a sort of childish playfulness to him, and he’s super optimistic. Leave it to him to always find the bright side of things.” She smiles fondly. “But he’s super oblivious sometimes. I had a crush on him for the longest time and he didn’t know until I told him sophomore year.” Her smile fades just slightly, and she knows Jughead can tell. “He didn’t feel the same, naturally, but it all worked out. Things were only awkward for a few days, to be honest.”

“I’m sorry,” Jughead murmurs, and he looks at her with an expression she can’t quite place for a moment before shaking himself out of it and adding, “your turn.”

Glancing back down to her phone, Betty clicks on another article, this time one with “would you rather” questions, and swipes at her screen until she finds an interesting one. “Would you rather know when you’re gonna die or how you’re gonna die? And you can’t change the time or method of your death.”

Jughead hums as he ponders the question, picking at the edge of his still-open laptop. It takes him a few beats to reply, but Betty isn’t surprised by his answer. It’s the same thing she would have picked, after all. “How I’m gonna die. Even if I can’t change the _way_ I die, I might be able to prevent it. Avoid whatever it is that’s gonna kill me, if I’m destined to die young or something.” He pauses and lists his head. “But really, it would just be interesting to know. You could swap stories with friends and laugh at the ridiculous ways they’re going to die.” His lips twist into a half-smile, no doubt picturing the scenario with his friends. Betty wonders what kind of friends he has.

“Last question,” she says, grinning a little. “Make it a good one.”

There’s a slight pause as Jughead finds a question. “Do you believe in fate?” he asks finally.

Betty’s surprised by the depth of the question but as she thinks about it, she’s not at all shocked that Jughead’s the one asking it. The conversations she’s had with him these past few hours have been deeper than most of the ones she’s ever had. “No,” she replies firmly, and notes his approving nod. “Though the hopeless romantic inside me would say otherwise, I honestly don’t think there’s a…force controlling our actions. We don’t have destinies. _We_ control our futures, and the paths we choose ultimately determine how our story ends.”

She lets him ponder her answer for a beat before asking the question that’s been at the tip of her tongue for several minutes. She‘d seen it on that first website she’d visited but had chosen to save it for the end of the game. “What’s something you’re sure you’ll never experience?”

He’s quiet for a moment, but his eyes are teeming with trust and she prepares herself for another deep truth. “This is going to sound super depressing, but…” He laughs humorlessly. “True love. I honestly don’t think I’ll ever find ‘the one’, as it’s called. I’ve got too much baggage, Betty. I’m afraid to let people down. I’m afraid that, if someday I fall in love or whatever, I’ll screw it up somehow.” He leans forward, resting his arms on the table. “I know how it feels to love someone and for them to just…leave. It’s the most painful thing I’ve ever experienced, and I would never, ever want to be on the other end. I would never want to have to go about my life knowing that I let someone down when they needed me the most.”

If there was one thing Betty never thought she’d experience, it was crying in the middle of the airport on a Sunday morning. She’d never imagined listening to someone admitting their deepest fears and being able to relate so much, to feel exactly what they’re feeling as if their hearts are one. But here she is, sitting across from Jughead Jones, the most sincere and realest person she’s ever met, who’s practically a stranger. And there are tears slipping down her cheeks at his words. His words are _beautiful_. God, it’s so obvious why he’s a writer. He’s just so real.

“ _Shit_ ,” he blurts all of a sudden, and Betty’s thoroughly confused until he reaches a hand across the table to rest on her own. His hand is warm and his fingers are long and slim and through her tears Betty feels her heart begin to race again. “I’m so sorry, Betty,” he murmurs, rubbing her hand comfortingly with his thumb. Unhelpfully, a fire ignites low in Betty’s belly. She does her best to ignore it. “I shouldn’t have…” He bites his lip, apologies brimming in his eyes. 

_No, Jughead, it’s okay_ is on the tip of her tongue, but her phone pings before she can utter the words, effectively ruining the moment. (If whatever was happening could even be considered a _moment_. She has no way of knowing if Jughead was feeling the same swooping feeling in his chest that she was feeling in hers.) Jughead pulls his hand away as Betty reaches for her phone, swiping left on a text from Veronica that says _Have you boarded yet???_ and typing out a quick two-word reply: _No, sorry._ She adds a thumbs-down emoji for good measure, and then opens the Omega Airlines app for the millionth time to check the departure time. It still says nine thirty, but Betty suspects it’ll get pushed back again. She can see the plane from the window and there doesn’t seem to be a maintenance crew anywhere in sight. 

The tears on her cheeks have dried and Betty doesn’t know what to say now that the game is over. (He’s asked five questions and she’s asked five.) Jughead is in the same situation, she can tell—he’s still eyeing her guiltily. Her phone rings this time, and Betty isn’t surprised to see Veronica’s name on the screen. She answers the call and, in true Veronica fashion, her best friend starts ranting instantly. “I can’t believe they keep delaying your flight! Ugh, I was counting on some girl time today. I thought we could go to the mall before Reggie comes over.”

Betty scoffs. “Why am I not surprised?” (Veronica probably wants to shop for some...specific articles of clothing that Reggie would enjoy.) Sighing, she glances at Jughead, who’s once again typing away on his laptop to give her some privacy while she’s on the phone. “But really, V, I’m sorry. I’d have loved to go to the mall with you.” It’s the truth. She loves hanging out with Veronica, and she actually has been meaning to go shopping for some new clothes. “I’ll be back before Reggie comes over, I promise.”

Veronica sighs dramatically. “You better be. Okay, yeah, I know it’s not your fault that the flight keeps getting delayed. Just make sure you’re back in time for class tomorrow.”

Betty chuckles. She knows that truthfully, Veronica’s more concerned about her date than anything else at this point, but five years of best-friendship with Veronica Lodge has taught Betty that this doesn’t mean that Veronica’s not worried about her. “I will be. See you soon, V.”

“Love you, Bettykins,” is the reply. Betty pulls the phone away from her ear to hang up, but Veronica blurts, “Wait, B,” and so Betty puts the phone back up to her ear and waits for Veronica to continue. “Are you just hanging out at the airport?”

“Of course,” Betty responds. “After you go through security, it’s not like you can leave.” Her eyes find Jughead across the table, and for a split second she wonders if telling Veronica about Jughead is a good idea. “Besides, it’s not that bad. I…have company.”

As soon as Veronica’s gasp fills the phone speaker—the exact reaction she knew her words would earn—Betty inhales to ready herself for Veronica’s inevitable interrogation. “Oh my God. You met a hot guy at the airport so the gods decided to take pity on your non-existent love life and delay your flight so you can have a hot and fiery romance. I knew it.”

Somehow, _this_ is even more than Betty expected to hear from her best friend. “It’s telling that you automatically assume it’s a hot guy,” she replies finally, not really knowing how to respond. She can feel Jughead’s eyes on her again, and she peeks over at him just long enough to catch the way his eyebrow shoots upward at her words. 

“God, is it a hot _girl_?” Veronica sighs dreamily and Betty can picture Veronica fanning herself with her hand. “Wait. I thought you were straight, Betty.”

“I _am_ , V.” Her eyes practically roll back into her head as she sighs heavily. “It’s a guy,” she confirms, desperately trying not to glance back over at Jughead. 

“ _Yes_ ,” Veronica drawls, and then gasps immediately afterward. “This is fate! When was the last time you went out with someone?”

“Oh my _God_ , V,” she groans. “We are not going out! I literally just met him like two and a half hours ago, and we’re in the airport for Christ’s sake! This is, like, the least romantic setting I can think of.” (Okay, maybe she’s over-exaggerating. She can think of less romantic settings. But still.)

“That’s such a lie, Betty. Airports are the perfect place for a meet-cute.” 

“My life is not a YA romance novel, Veronica.” Telling Veronica about Jughead was obviously a mistake. She has a bad habit of getting all up into Betty’s (non-existent) love life. It’s not surprising that she’s totally freaking out about this guy Betty’s been talking to for the past few hours. 

“What’s his name? This mysterious hot guy.” 

Veronica is _waaaay_ too into this, and so it feels good to know that telling her the name of this “mysterious hot guy” will most likely destroy all of her dreams of Betty’s fairytale wedding or whatever it is that she wants to get out of all of this nonsense. “Jughead.”

His head shoots up, eyes finding Betty’s, and it’s such a sudden movement that Betty almost misses Veronica’s stunned “ _Jug Head?!_ That’s not a name, Betty.”

“It’s a nickname,” she clarifies, and she can practically see Veronica’s eye roll, even though she’s almost 3,000 miles away.

“Fine,” Veronica replies after a long silence. Honestly, Betty has no idea what’s been running through Veronica’s mind for the last thirty seconds, but she’s almost a hundred percent sure her meddling friend was coming up with yet another scheme related to Betty’s depressingly absent love life. “How old is he?”

“He’s a senior at NYU, V,” is Betty’s answer, and apparently it satisfies Veronica—but that doesn’t mean the interrogation is anywhere close to over. 

Veronica’s relieved sigh is definitely more dramatic than necessary. “Oh, thank God. I was kinda getting an old man vibe.”

The hand that isn’t holding her cell phone is thrown into the air exasperatedly. “Do you really think I would hang out with a random old man at an airport for two hours, let alone call him _hot_?” She’s purposely avoiding Jughead’s gaze at this point, because the conversation she’s having with Veronica, even though he can only hear her half, is extremely embarrassing, to say the least. And she’s pretty sure he just cleared his throat awkwardly. Yep, he did, and now there’s a very apparently blush growing on his cheeks. God, could Veronica Lodge be any more embarrassing?

“Okay, so he’s a hot college student. And he goes to NYU too? God, Betty! This is perfect!” There’s shuffling on the other end of the line, and Betty assumes Veronica’s running out into the kitchen to see if she can ask around about said hot college student. “Do you like him? Is he the guy you’ve always dreamed of?”

“Yes, and no,” Betty replies, thankful that Jughead doesn’t know what the question was. “You know the type of guy I used to dream of—Archie.”

“ _Used_ to,” she parrots knowingly. “So what’s it about this Jug Head that you like? Is he super bubbly and sweet like you?”

“It’s _Jughead_. One word. No spaces.”

“Okay, okay.” Veronica sounds far too smug for Betty’s liking. “Answer my question.”

“He’s basically the complete opposite of me, actually,” Betty admits, picking at the hem of her sweater sleeve. “On the outside, at least. But on the inside, he’s…” she peers over at Jughead, wondering how to word this so that she doesn’t completely give away her growing feelings, “like me. He gets me, V. He gets my literary references and he gets my issues with my past.”

She’s glad Veronica’s response distracts her from the obvious pink tint to Jughead’s cheeks. “Oh my God, he’s a book nerd? This is a match made in heaven, hon.” 

Now Betty’s the one whose cheeks are flushed. “Stop it, V. It’s not…it’s not like that.”

“Betty Cooper,” is the reply, “you deserve a guy who actually shares your interests and who can keep up with that beautiful mind of yours. There aren’t many guys like that out there. You gotta at least give this a try.” Betty can hear her suck in a deep breath. “Are you attracted to him? Is there chemistry?”

“Yeah,” she says, and she’s never been more thankful that she’s on the phone and not talking to Veronica in person. It would be beyond mortifying if Jughead could hear Veronica’s words as well. 

Veronica barrels on. “Is he interesting? Fun to talk to? Do you _feel_ something?”

It’s Betty’s turn to take a stabilizing breath. “Yes, V.” 

For the first time since she’s known her, Veronica Lodge doesn’t gasp or sigh when hearing about a guy. She doesn’t say “ _oh my God_ ” breathily or clap her hands together excitedly. Instead, she says, in a perfectly calm and composed voice, “Betty. When was the last time you felt like this?”

The truth spills out of her quicker than she’d ever have expected, and it leaves her biting her lip nervously. What she’s nervous about, she’s not sure. “I…I can't remember. I don’t know if I ever have. Not like this.”

Veronica Lodge utters four simple words: “This is it, Betty,” and then promptly hangs up the phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, how was it? I hope you enjoyed the little five questions game I threw in there to flesh out our faves. It was a lot of fun to write this chapter. :)
> 
> I hope I did Betty’s scars justice, and I hope that wasn’t too cliché or cringy or whatever. I was just trying to illustrate how Betty realizes it’s a sign she’s still fighting after all of the horrible things she went through.
> 
> Veronica’s...a lot, isn’t she? Don’t get me wrong; I love her, but she’s definitely the friend that’s all up in your business. I got secondhand embarrassment from writing that whole conversation. Poor Betty. (And Veronica’s old man comment? Technically, she’s not wrong. Jughead’s been around for almost eighty years, and man does he look good for almost a century of eating burgers 24/7.)
> 
> Also, I’m aware Toledo is actually in Ohio, but I’m taking liberties here. It’s my story, I get to do what I want. :)
> 
> Again, I hope you enjoyed, and I can’t wait for you to read next week’s chapter! xx
> 
> (Side note: have any of you seen Lili and Cole’s 2019 Met Gala looks?? They’re pretty snazzy, if I do say so myself. Hugs and kisses to our fave famous couple!)


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter three is a go! Thanks to everyone who’s still reading, and welcome to those who are just now giving this fic a try! :)
> 
> If you’re getting tired of the airport, don’t worry—they get on the plane in this chapter. But not before a couple of hiccups. (They’re not really hiccups. More like tropes. *wink*) 
> 
> Also, I threw a Disney reference in there. Whoops. ;)
> 
> I’m going to challenge myself to describe this chapter in two sentences. Here goes: Betty’s scheming, and miracles do happen. But so do snowstorms. 
> 
> Intrigued? Well, go ahead and read on!

**Chapter Three**

Her phone reads 1:32 P.M. when the lady over the loudspeaker apologizes yet again for the delay, but this time the words are accompanied by the announcement that they’re finally boarding Omega Airlines Flight 2971. Betty sighs in relief—Jughead’s company has been very enjoyable, but she’s getting a little restless in this airport—and tucks her laptop back into her big purse. 

“Well, this is it, huh,” Jughead muses, also standing and packing away his things. His movements are reluctant and it’s obvious he’s stalling. (But it’s not like Betty isn’t kind of doing the same thing.)

“We go to the same college,” she reminds him. “It wouldn’t be difficult for us to meet up again. If you’d like that, of course,” she adds hastily, even though it’s obvious he’d be all for that. 

“I’d like that,” he confirms, almost shyly, once again pinning her with one of his soft glances. She’s caught off-guard every time. Not in a bad way, though. Not at all. 

Betty pulls her purse over her left shoulder, where it rests, and Jughead’s gaze follow the movements. Her own gaze drops to her right hand as it falls from her purse, to the pretty diamond ring that she got as a birthday present from Veronica senior year of high school, and suddenly, an idea comes to her. It’s possibly the craziest and stupidest idea she’s ever come up with, but Betty’s desperate to spend more time with Jughead and she thinks maybe he’d be willing to entertain her crazy idea. 

She peeks over her shoulder at the counter, where the barista’s back is turned. The two tables that had been occupied earlier are empty, and so Betty takes a step closer to Jughead and prays he doesn’t regret everything that’s happened in the past few hours when she proposes to him. 

_Fake_ proposes. She’s not going to _actually_ propose. Definitely not. 

“Jughead,” she whispers, sliding the ring off her right ring finger and onto her left, “will you marry me?”

The look on his face is such an intense mixture of confusion and shock that she instantly regrets using those words. She should have just explained her plan. Why did she just freaking _propose_ to him in the middle of an airport coffee shop, and why did she even think this idea was going to work in the first place?

But the next words that come out of his mouth are so unexpected that this time _she’s_ the one whose jaw drops. “So we can get seats next to each other.”

She’s suddenly incapable of coherent speech, but she doesn’t even have to respond before Jughead’s lips are curling upward into a grin. “I read too, remember? I’ve had the misfortune of reading one too many fanfictions in which the couple gets fake-engaged in order to convince the flight attendants to switch seats around.”

There are a million things running through Betty’s mind, but the thing that leaves her mouth is, “You read fanfiction?”

“Not technically,” he responds after a beat, tongue searching around for the words. “I don’t, like, Google it or anything. I have a friend that writes it, and since I’m a writer too I got roped into being his ‘beta-reader’, as he calls it.” His eyes skim her face. “Do you?”

“I used to,” she admits, choosing not to add that she used to _write_ it as well. The last thirty seconds have been so unexpected that Betty’s just standing there for a beat, trying to remember what in the world is even happening. “So…” she starts, “are you in?”

She’s expecting a grin and an “of course” in response, so she’s surprised and a teensy bit disappointed when Jughead inhales sharply and holds it for a beat, looking very unsure. “Don’t get me wrong, Betty,” he says, “I’d love to sit with you, but I just don’t know if that would be very…considerate.” He sighs. “The people at the gate will have to scramble around to change seats, and the people who have the seats next to ours will have to move.”

He has a point. Betty feels kind of guilty, now, thinking about it. It would be a hassle for everyone involved. And it’s kind of wrong, too—they’re not actually engaged. Making people change seats last minute all because she wants to spend more time with a cute guy? “You’re right,” Betty admits, shoulders sagging. She switches the ring back to her opposite hand. “I’m sorry. That was…that was wrong of me.”

“Don’t worry about it, Betty,” he assures her. There’s a hint of a grin on his lips. “Besides, I’m kind of flattered. No one’s ever proposed to me after only a few hours before.”

“You can blame Hans. I get all my inspiration for my world domination schemes from that guy.” The words are out of her mouth before she realizes she just referenced a freaking Disney movie when talking to a guy she probably has a crush on. Okay, more like _definitely_ has a crush on. 

Luckily, Jughead’s reaction is not one of confusion or disgust at her blatant Frozen reference. Instead, he gives her one of those trying-not-to-chuckle-but-failing-miserably looks and clicks his tongue. “Oh, Betty, you were just using me? And to think, I actually fell for it.”

She hopes she’s not just imagining that maybe by _it_ he means to say _you_. “The truth hurts, Jughead Jones,” she replies, shaking her head for good measure. She can’t help the grin that sneaks onto her lips. 

Jughead just chuckles, shrugging his backpack onto his back and pulling his suitcase out from under the table. His lips are parted and Betty waits for him to say whatever’s on his mind but he seems unsure. She’s in no rush, however, even though the plane’s finally arrived, and so she drags her own suitcase from under their table without taking her eyes from him, so he knows she’s listening. Finally he exhales through his nose harshly in lieu of saying _the hell with it._ “Do you think I could get your phone number? I...I’d love to meet up again, maybe after school one day?”

She’s so glad he asked. “Of course!” she replies, maybe too enthusiastically. Betty fishes her phone out of her purse and, after creating a new contact, trades phones with Jughead. His case, she notices, is clear and plain, almost like he doesn’t care what his case looks like as long as it works. (That’s probably the case. Betty knows functionality is important.) Betty’s case, however, is a pastel blue color, smooth and sleek like her ever-present ponytail.

Betty quickly types in her name and number, eyes running over the information one last time to check before handing Jughead’s phone back over. He gives hers back, and before Betty pockets her phone she adds one addition to Jughead's contact: a little crown emoji next to his first name. She likes putting an emoji next to her contacts—it’s a way to symbolize the nuances about her friends and family that makes them unique. 

“Shall we?” Jughead nods in the direction of their gate. Betty’s warm smile is the only response he’s looking for, apparently, because he turns on his heel and starts for their gate, Betty hot on his tail. 

They join the line at the gate, Betty standing between Jughead and a very, _very_ tanned guy around her age who smells like he just stepped away from the California surf. He looks the part, too—shaggy hair curved into a wave across his forehead, a red tank top with a small white cross over his heart (the word _lifeguard_ spelled across the back of the shirt, Betty presumes), and one of those long necklaces on every surfer dude in every movie ever. Betty hadn’t realized someone that was such a perfect example of a stereotypical surfer could even exist. (No offense to him. It’s just an observation.)

“But I’m sure I booked both seat 30A _and_ 30B,” a feminine voice rings out. Betty rises onto her tiptoes and leans slightly to see over Jughead’s shoulder. A woman in a flowery blouse and dress pants is at the counter, hand-in-hand with a small girl with a huge stuffed bear tucked against her side. The woman looks so much like Betty’s own mother that she has to do a double take. 

“—see if the passenger in seat 30B would like to switch,” the man at the counter is saying. “We understand that you want to be seated next to your daughter, and we respect that. Wait just a moment.” Betty can no longer see what’s going on at the front of the line—she’s no longer peering over Jughead’s shoulder—but there’s no need to look, because a voice sounds out over the loudspeaker. “Passengers on Omega Airlines Flight 2971, please check your boarding passes. If you have seat 30B, please come up to the counter. Thank you.”

Boarding pass already in hand, Betty checks the seat number and finds that, in big bold letters, it reads 30B. “It’s me,” she murmurs—to herself, but she can tell Jughead’s heard by the way his head snaps around and his eyes find hers. She glances down at her suitcase, asking _Can you keep an eye on this?_ without saying a word, and his nod is the only reply she needs. Betty strolls up to the counter, boarding pass in hand, and pins the man with her best Cooper smile. “I’m in seat 30B.”

The man looks extremely relieved to have found the passenger he’s looking for. In fact, he looks overwhelmed by the whole situation, sweat beading at his hairline. Maybe he’s new to the job. But his next words don’t give away any of his obvious panic, and Betty has to give him credit for that much. “Mrs.—” he glances over at the woman’s boarding pass “—Smith thought that she booked two seats next to each other, for her and her young daughter, but it turns out that was not the case. Would you be willing to swap seats?”

“Of course,” Betty replies. She’s not going to keep a girl as young as that away from her mother, when the solution is so simple. She smiles warmly when the woman thanks her profusely. 

A new boarding pass is printed for Betty with a new seat number—17D—and she’s sent back to her spot in line, where Jughead waits with her luggage. She explains to him what had happened and when she holds up her new boarding pass, he scans it, eyebrows shooting upward. Before Betty can ask about his reaction, he shows her his own boarding pass. Seat 17C, it reads. 

Seat 17C. The seat right next to hers. “Did you decide to pull the fake marriage thing after all?” Jughead asks, grin wide and voice teasing. 

“No, of course not,” Betty promises, smacking him lightly on the arm. “There was a woman that accidentally booked her and her daughter seats that weren’t anywhere near each other. One of the woman’s seats was 30A, next to my original seat, so I offered to swap.” She can’t resist the grin that turns up the corners of her lips. “It’s a coincidence that my new seat is the one next to yours.”

“Fate, you mean,” he replies dramatically, and Betty rolls her eyes playfully. “Definitely fate. Things like this don’t just happen out of the blue.”

“Oh, you—” She’s cut off by the laugh that escapes her lips. (She was thinking the exact same thing, though. She doesn’t believe in fate, not really—she’s already told him that—but the hopeless romantic in her can’t help but feel like this is fate’s work. Nothing like this has ever happened to Betty before. Neither the whole ticket coincidence nor meeting an insanely cute and funny guy at the airport.)

They’ve finally made it to the front of the line, and Jughead hands his pass to the man at the counter to scan before Betty does the same. The man gives her ticket back and says, “Thanks again for swapping your ticket with that other woman. I couldn’t bear to make such a young child sit alone on an airplane.”

Betty assures the man that it was no problem and continues through the jet bridge, not far behind Jughead. Now on the plane, Betty heads down the aisle to her seat and smiles politely at everyone on her way, a habit drilled into her by the ever-demanding Alice Cooper. 

Jughead’s shoving his suitcase into the overhead compartments over their seats when she approaches, and wordlessly he holds a hand out for her luggage. Betty’s reaction is a grateful “Thank you!” and she curses the universe for giving her yet another reason to fall in love with Jughead Jones—he’s a gentleman. 

Betty slips into their row first, taking her seat by the window, and Jughead follows, tucking his backpack under the seat in front of him. Betty pulls her phone out to quickly text Veronica, typing _We’re on the plane, finally!_ , and then put it into airplane mode. There’s free in-flight Wi-Fi on the plane, she knows—she always flies Omega Airlines—but it never seems to let her send or receive messages, so she knows that she won’t get a reply from Veronica until she lands in New York. (Internet connection, on the other hand, isn’t free, but it’s only a few bucks and when Betty flies she usually works on her laptop for the whole time.)

Betty and Jughead were near the end of the line, so everyone’s in their seats by this point and the flight attendants that are standing at the front of the cabin begin to prepare for takeoff. Evidently, Omega Airlines doesn’t want to keep their passengers waiting any longer; within minutes the plane is already pulling away from the gate. The flight attendants begin their safety demonstration, which Betty hardly pays attention to. She’s heard it countless times already. 

They’re in the air in no time, and as soon as the voice over the loudspeaker gives the passengers permission to open their tray tables and use their laptops, Betty pulls hers out. Jughead does the same, and Betty watches as his fingers fly over the keys as he enters his password. He’s got a MacBook, just like she does, but when he keys in his password Betty discovers that his background is the default purple space theme. Hers, on the other hand, is her favorite Toni Morrison quote with an artsy background. (Yes, she’s aware it’s very 7th grade hipster. Whatever.)

Betty pays for the in-flight Internet connection and dives into a report she’s been working on for a while, the speed of her fingers as she types not quite rivaling Jughead’s. When the drink cart rolls up and her gaze is pulled away from her laptop, she’s surprised to find that an hour has passed. The flight attendant pushing the cart, a young, brown-haired guy with a pearly smile and a name tag reading _Kevin_ greets her and Jughead with a cheery, “Good afternoon! What can I get for you two today?” 

“Just a water, please.” Betty’s already had a coffee today (she only ever drinks it if she absolutely needs to) and she’s not a soda girl. As for alcohol, Betty honestly kind of hates the bitter taste of it, and she really doesn’t think that a cup of cheap airplane wine is going to change her mind.

Jughead also responds with a, “Water, please,” and hands Betty her cup when it’s ready. Kevin the flight attendant flashes that flawless smile one last time and then moves on to the next row of passengers, leaving Betty to her laptop and her water. And to Jughead, of course, but he’s still typing away at whatever he’s working on and doesn’t even pull his gaze from the screen when he takes a sip of his own water. Betty honestly doesn’t mind that he’s not paying her any attention—she’s not self-centered like that, and besides, she’s got her own writing to work on. 

Out the window to her right, there are clouds for miles. They’re flying over Nevada, according to the flight tracker on her Omega Airlines app, but they’re too high up for Betty to see any land. Just an endless blue sky and the sun peeking out from behind the clouds, casting a golden glow. 

Betty’s flight tracker reads _1 hour and 57 minutes_ left when the pilot’s voice spills out of the speakers above her head. “We’ve been told that there is heavy snow in New York at this time, so Control has deemed it necessary to land in Columbus, Ohio. We will refuel there and it should only take about an hour. We’ll be on our way to JFK Airport after that. We apologize for the inconvenience.”

A heavy groan escapes Betty, and a glance to her left tells her that Jughead’s feeling the same way. They aren’t the only ones getting frustrated—many other passengers sigh or turn to their neighbor to complain. 

“It looks like Veronica might just have to have a mac n cheese date after all,” Jughead teases, gaze finally leaving his laptop to land on Betty. 

“It certainly does,” she agrees, lips twisted into a small smile. But there’s a hint of disappointment behind it—she was hoping to spend some time with her best friend before diving into the last few busy months of school. Besides, dinner with Veronica and Reggie could be fun. _It’s all about the way you look at it,_ she reminds herself. (That’s another Alice Cooper trait drilled into her—endless, unfailing optimism.)

And besides, could another few hours with Jughead Jones be that bad? (Spoiler: no, they really couldn’t. In fact, Betty really hopes that they end up meeting up again after this whole airplane fiasco, because she’d _really_ like to spend even more than just a day with him.)

When they finally begin the descent toward the John Glenn Columbus International Airport, breaking through the layer of clouds, there’s snow outside Betty’s window. It’s falling hard, and below them there’s nothing but white as far as the eye can see. Betty’s breath catches; she’s never been up so high when it’s snowing, never seen just how far the blanket of white stretches. It’s beautiful, she discovers, and she spends the next few minutes simply admiring the view.

Her gaze doesn’t leave the window until they’ve pulled up to gate B21. Ohio’s a whole new territory to Betty—she’s never stepped foot in the state (and she won’t, not technically, since she can’t leave the plane). Of course, there isn’t much she can see from the little airplane window, but it’s new and exciting all the same. 

Jughead seems to have noticed her curiosity, fingers suspended over his keyboard as he glances in Betty’s direction. “Have you ever been to Ohio before?”

“No,” she admits, chuckling a little. She can tell that he already knew the answer. (After all, she was staring out the window with the same amount of wonder as a child.) “I never really traveled growing up. The first time I’d ever been on a plane was when I flew to LA for an internship at fifteen.” She’d never even been outside the state before her _Hello Giggles_ internship. “What about you?”

“My grandparents live here, so I’ve been to visit a few times.” There’s a bittersweet smile poking at his lips. “The eight hour drive from Toledo was certainly an interesting experience. My sister, Jellybean, would pop her Pink Floyd CD into the player in my dad’s ancient station wagon and turn it up full blast. She’s got quite the personality to match her taste in music.”

“I bet,” Betty murmurs, noting the way Jughead’s eyes light up while talking about his little sister. She can tell he’s got a soft spot for her. Betty can’t blame him—from all that she’s heard about Jellybean today, she seems like a pretty cool sister. She’d like to hear more about her, maybe earn one of those crooked smiles in the process. “You said your sister’s a freshman in college? At what school?”

“USC. They have a great art program, apparently, and she loves it there.” Jughead smiles wistfully. “JB’s an artist, definitely, but her first love was mechanics. My mom owns a shop back in Florida and my sister used to help her out quite a bit.”

She can relate to that. Her father taught her quite a bit about mechanics in her childhood, and it’s a skill she’s really glad she learned, no matter how tainted those memories with her father may now be. “I bet. Mechanics weren’t my _first_ love, but they’re definitely on the list.”

Jughead tilts his head slightly like he’s piecing together this new information to further build the puzzle that is Betty Cooper. (She _is_ quite the puzzle, she knows.) “If it wasn’t mechanics, what was your first love?”

It’s Betty’s turn to feel that pang of nostalgia. “Reading, definitely. Especially the Nancy Drew books. I was a huge fan as a kid.” _Huge_ is an understatement. Betty doesn’t think there’s a word to describe all those afternoons holed up in her room, nose in the _Nancy Drew Secret-Code_ book and hand meticulously copying down secret messages. “What about you? What was your first love?”

All Betty receives in reply is a goofy grin and a one-word answer: “Food.”

She fakes a gasp (not rudely, mind you). “Really? I never would’ve guessed.”

“Ha ha.” There’s no follow-up grin and his gaze shifts back to his laptop, so for a beat Betty’s worried her comment came off rude. God, what if she just screwed it all up? (And there is it, another product of living under Mrs. Perfect’s roof for eighteen years: anxiety. She may think that, by leaving Riverdale, she also left behind all aspects of her life that her mother controlled. But did she really?) 

But it seems as though Jughead was simply lost in thought, because a beat later he laughs through his nose and turns back to her. “Yeah, it’s honestly a miracle I’ve apparently got a good metabolism. For a while, I ate all three meals a day at this local diner in Toledo. Burgers and milkshakes for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.” His lips curl upward ever-so-slightly. “And yes, I meant it when I said _burgers_ and _milkshakes_. Plural.”

It really is a miracle, she thinks. It’s a miracle he hasn’t become the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man, but it’s honestly even more surprising that no one said anything about his eating habits. If it were Betty, she’d be bombarded with constant criticism from her mother, such as _Milkshakes are very fattening, Elizabeth_ and _You cannot eat that entire hamburger in one sitting. It’ll stretch out your stomach, you know._ But in their conversations Jughead will say offhanded things every once in a while hinting at his family situation growing up, which Betty suspects is the reason he spent so much time at this little diner in the first place. 

They keep up an idle chatter for the rest of the hour they’re stranded in Ohio and for the rest of the plane ride. Though it’s been a _really_ long day and Betty can’t wait to sink down into her bed and let the warmth of her comforter envelop her, a tiny pang of sadness runs through her at the prospect of not seeing Jughead for a while, if ever again. She’s honestly pretty enamored with him—dare she say it—and she’s never opened up to someone quite this easily. There’s just something so familiar about his words, when she reads between the lines—he’s gone through different trauma than she has but the scars are the same. It’s a depressing way to relate to someone, Betty admits, but it’s a connection all the same. 

Her phone reads 8:35 P.M. when the wheels of the plane touch down at the JFK airport. Betty’s tucking her laptop back into her purse as the plane glides down the runway and when they finally pull up to the gate, unlocking her seatbelt and standing up feels like a dream. (Her butt is numb from sitting for so long, but that’s a different story.) Evidently, whoever’s in charge of opening the doors of the plane knows that the passengers can’t wait to leave because Betty’s stepping out onto New York soil only minutes after reaching the gate. The clicking of her suitcase against the jet bridge floor is a familiar sound, and it brings her back to this morning, before any of this had happened. Before she spent her entire day in an airport and on a plane, albeit in good company. 

She glances over her shoulder at said company, whose lips tilt upward as his gaze finds hers. She returns the look and faces the terminal once more, resisting the urge to laugh in delight upon seeing all the familiar shops and signs of her most-frequented airport. It’ll be more difficult to do so when she turns the key to the apartment she shares with Veronica, she knows. Seeing Polly and the twins in California was amazing and meeting Jughead was possibly even better, but Betty’s never been so glad to be home. 

She doesn’t have any baggage to pick up—she’s got everything in her suitcase and purse—so her next stop is the shuttle bus zone, where she’ll take a ride back to where her car is parked. She’s not going anywhere without saying goodbye to Jughead, though. 

It looks as though he’s heading in a different direction than she is, possibly toward the parking lot on the opposite side of the airport from where Betty needs to go, so she knows it’s now or never. Jughead stops and turns to her, evidently thinking the same thing, and Betty speaks before he can. “Until next time.” It’s easier than saying goodbye, and better—it's a promise. A promise that there will be a next time, no matter what it takes. 

The last thing Betty sees before she turns away is that crooked smile she knows she’ll never forget. “Until next time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. The end of this chapter was probably the most difficult part of the story to write. I couldn’t figure out how/where to end it! But it all worked out. 
> 
> Did you see what I did there? I dangled the fake-marriage trope in front of you and then snatched it away before you could grab onto it. I know, I’m evil. But I’m not sorry. :)
> 
> And did I seriously add fan fiction to my fan fiction? Yes I did. You can’t convince me that teen Betty Cooper didn’t write fan fiction. I know she did. (And Jughead’s friend that writes it? It’s probably Sweet Pea, to be honest.)
> 
> And yes, Kevin is one of the flight attendants. Honestly, I could totally see him as one. He’s polite, he’s got a great smile, and we all know he’d rock that uniform. 
> 
> Also, I’m sorry if I insulted any of the surfers out there with my surfer dude comment. I just want you to know I respect you and I don’t think that you all look like that one guy from Teen Beach Movie. It’s just Betty’s observation. 
> 
> Just one more chapter to go! See you all next week, and thanks for reading! xx


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one more chapter! Eee! I think this one is probably my favorite, so I’m super excited to share. But I’m also sad this is the end of our little adventure. Hopefully you guys have enjoyed, and will stick around for my next work. (No, I’m not sure what it’ll be, but I’ve had so much fun writing a multi-chapter fic so be ready for another one.) 
> 
> If you’re wondering why in the world one of the tags is “first kisses!!! yeah man” but there hasn’t been a single kiss yet, just know I haven’t forgotten. It’s time for that first kiss, y’all. ;)
> 
> Also, now is the time for some of our faves to make appearances—you’ll meet Archie, Reggie, and Sweet Pea. Also Jug’s motorcycle. And Betty in a skirt. 
> 
> Read on, friends!

**Chapter Four**

**Two Months Later**

“Seriously, Betty? You don’t own a single skirt?”

Betty tugs at a light and summery ankle-length skirt and runs her hand over the soft fabric. “Here’s one.”

Veronica’s subsequent eye roll and exasperated huff combo should have landed her on America’s Got Talent. “We’re going to a _party_ , Bettykins. We want you to look hot, not like a nun on vacation.” 

Betty glances at Veronica, who’s shuffling through a large box of shoes that she pulled out of her own closet. “I’m trying, Veronica. Not all of us have New York’s top designer stores on speed dial.”

“Actually, I have their websites bookmarked—” she quickly changes course when she looks up to find Betty’s pinned her with a glare “—but that’s so beside the point! Betty, darling, you can borrow a skirt of mine tonight, but we’re going shopping tomorrow. No negotiations,” she finishes when Betty’s mouth drops open to retort. 

“Fine,” Betty agrees finally. It might actually be nice to branch out for once, to break away from the sweater and jeans mold she’s been living her whole life. 

“Good. Now give me a second, B.” Veronica’s out of Betty’s room in a flash, returning only a minute later with a dozen skirts from her own closet—a very, _very_ small portion of her skirt collection. Sometimes, Betty wonders how Veronica manages to fit her wardrobe into her closet, one that’s slightly larger than most apartment closets because of course, they live in a pretty nice apartment building. She lives with Veronica Lodge, after all. Could you expect anything less from the princess of New York?

All of the skirts are deposited directly on the floor, like they can be tossed about and simply replaced if a rip appears. (They can. Veronica’s credit card can handle anything that’s thrown at it. Even the damage of a custom-made skirt, which can be repaired. Even so, Veronica protects _those_ ones with her life.) “Here.” She tosses one of the skirts at Betty, a very expensive, very short piece. “Try this one on.”

“God, it’s so short.” Betty replaces the jeans she’s wearing with the skirt, and grimaces at her reflection in the floor-length mirror Veronica insisted on buying for her. 

“Exactly.” Veronica grins from her place on the floor, kneeling in front of the shoebox. “You’ve got legs for days, girl. You need to show them off!”

Betty’s fine with showing off her legs—yeah, she’s aware she’s got nice ones—but the skirt shows her ass way more than she’d ever feel comfortable with in public. “Do you have anything a little bit longer?” 

Veronica sighs heavily and hands Betty another skirt. “Try this one.”

It’s maybe an _inch_ longer than the other one and is even more molded to accentuate her behind. “V, I said _longer_. Significantly longer. And less…” she waves at the back of the skirt, “back here.”

It takes Veronica a beat longer to find a skirt that actually matches Betty’s requirements. “How’s this?” She holds up a black, high-waisted skirt for Betty. 

This one is longer, about mid-thigh, and Betty kind of likes the high waist. It’s soft, too, and not too tight. “This one’s good.”

Veronica beams and pops up to join Betty at the mirror. “It’s _great_! You should keep it.”

Betty’s turning down the offer out of politeness (yet another Alice Cooper-ism) even though she knows Veronica will insist. “I couldn’t—”

“Uh uh, Betty Cooper,” Veronica interrupts. “That skirt looks perfect on you. You need a cute skirt, and I’ve got plenty.”

“Does this mean I can get out of that shopping trip?”

Veronica arches an eyebrow at Betty’s playful grin, knowing full well that her friend already knows the answer to the question. “Nope.”

Betty shrugs, no less of a smile on her lips. “I tried.”

Veronica merely rolls her eyes—lovingly, mind you—and sticks her head in Betty’s closet, emerging with a gasp and a pale lilac top that was the product of one of Betty’s reluctant shopping trips with her best friend. “This is perfect.”

It _does_ look good, Betty finds. The purple shirt brings out the green of her eyes, Veronica points out. The skirt and top pair nicely, and the neckline of the shirt is low but not uncomfortably so. It’s something that Alice Cooper would never allow, but Betty’s in college now, and her mother isn’t here to dictate her every move. College Betty can wear short skirts and low-cut shirts and go to parties. (Not too often, though. College Betty isn’t an entirely new person, after all. She’s still the same straight-A bookworm who does the exact same extracurriculars every year.)

After brushing out her shoulder-length blonde hair and applying some Veronica-approved mascara and lipstick, Betty hops into the passenger seat of her friend’s car. The drive to Reggie’s apartment, where the party is located, doesn’t take long, but there are cars lined up all down the block and it takes a few minutes for Veronica to find a spot to slip into. It’s a few blocks from Reggie’s apartment, so they have to walk for a few minutes. It’s a chilly February evening and Betty’s in (Veronica’s) heels—definitely not in her element—but Veronica’s at ease in her six-inch Louboutin heels and tight black dress so Betty does her best to match her confidence. 

The party is full swing by the time they arrive—Veronica Lodge is always fashionably late, after all—and Reggie’s quick to notice his girlfriend’s entrance. He greets her with a kiss and Betty with a, “‘Sup, Cooper,” like he always does. This time, however, there’s an added, “Lookin’ good,” addressed to Betty, and Veronica beams, her handiwork properly acknowledged. 

It’s not long before Veronica is lost in the crowd and Betty’s left to her own devices. The room reeks of sweat and cheap beer and if she wasn’t wearing these heels, Betty might consider walking the two miles back to her apartment. But she’s stuck here, so she finds her way to the little balcony and ignores the couple furiously making out in the doorway. 

“Betty!”

There’s a familiar redhead making his way to her, and even though she can smell the beer on his breath (it’s definitely not her favorite smell in the world) she lets him engulf her in a hug. “Archie!”

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” he says, pulling back and grinning at her, ever the carefree and laid-back guy he’s always been. He leans on the balcony and surveys her outfit—criss cross lace across her chest, tight black skirt. “Veronica drag you here?”

Betty cocks an eyebrow, voice teasing. “You really think I would come here of my own volition?”

He chuckles. “I dunno. Maybe you’re feeling adventurous. College is the place to reinvent yourself, after all.”

“Veronica dragged me here,” she confirms, but laughs all the same. “And why are you here?” she asks, knowing full well what the answer is. She’s just having too much fun teasing him. 

“Reggie’s my best bro,” he replies, which is not what she expected. “And Josie’s here.” There it is. (He’s been kinda-sorta dating Josie McCoy for a few months now, whom he met in his Music Theory course. She’s also the same Josie in Veronica’s Women’s History class, as a matter of fact.) “But speaking of Reggie, he’s got a roommate who I think you’d like. He’s a writer and he’s kind of got a Danny Zuko vibe.”

“Oh my God.” Their fifth grade class watched _Grease_ as a reward for winning the Riverdale Elementary fundraiser contest and ever since Archie’s been convinced that Betty has a thing for leather jacket-sporting, motorcycle-riding guys. He swears Betty said so herself, but she has vehemently denied it multiple times. (Is it true? Betty refuses to say.) “How many times do I have to tell you, Archie? I do not have a thing Danny Zuko.”

“Oh, but this guy’s a bookworm like you. You’ll love him, Betty. Promise.”

She’s not falling for Archie’s slightly drunk, poorly executed puppy-dog eyes. “Come on, Arch. I don’t need you to try to control my love life. Veronica already does it. One’s enough.”

Betty tries to ignore the look that flashes over his face at Veronica’s name. It’s gone in an instant and she doesn’t have time to process it anyway. “Well, maybe you could just be friends. You need another book person, right?”

He gets an eye roll in response, but Betty doesn’t completely shut him down. “I guess.” She’s never met a biker who’s also a literature nerd, but there’s a first time for everything. “You said he’s Reggie’s roommate, right? So he’s here?”

Archie’s eyes are fixed on something in the streets below, but she can tell he heard her. “Probably not. He’s not a party guy. Kind of a loner.”

Good, she thinks. She could use another person who feels the same way she does about parties. “What’s his name?”

“It’s a weird one,” he replies, meeting her eyes. “Think it’s a nickname.” Archie pauses, for what Betty assumes is dramatic effect by the way he chuckles slightly at her raised eyebrow. “Jughead.”

Jughead. 

_Jughead Jones?_

“Oh my God.” Jughead. She’s been so busy in the past few months, she’d practically forgotten about him. The second she stepped back onto New York soil after her flight she’d been sucked back into the world of college and there wasn’t a moment to consider asking Jughead to get coffee or something along those lines. 

It’s funny—she really wouldn’t say that he looks like Danny Zuko. Sure, he’s got the dark hair and blue eyes combo, but he was wearing a sherpa jacket and a flannel when she met him, not a leather jacket. And he didn't seem like the motorcycle riding type. 

Maybe she really doesn’t know him that well. 

“It’s that bad?” It takes Betty a second to realize what Archie’s talking about—Jughead’s name. “I didn’t think it was that bad.”

“No, it’s not that. I…” _I met him on the airplane once. I kinda fell in love with him. I didn’t know he was Reggie’s roommate._ “I know him.”

“Really?” His response is a little slow due to his inebriated state, but he grins all the same. “And you didn’t fall in love with him?”

If only he knew. “Ha ha.” This time, it’s Betty’s turn to shift her gaze to the crowded Manhattan streets. 

Thankfully, Archie either isn’t observant enough or isn’t sober enough to notice the deep blush on Betty’s cheeks. “How’d you meet? Was he a one-night stand?”

“Wha-Of course not!” There’s not much else Betty can get out. This has to be a joke. Does he really think Betty Cooper, whom he’s known since he was five, would ever—

“Kidding.” Betty’s expecting another grin on his face, but when she turns back to her best friend Archie looks almost thoughtful. “You wouldn’t do that. Neither would he.”

Before Archie can manage to steer the conversation in yet another uncomfortable direction, Betty pipes up with, “You know that crazy flight I had on the way back from California a few months ago?”

Archie squints like he’s trying to drag a memory out from the deep recesses of his mind. “Yeah,” he says finally, almost like a question, and Betty curses herself internally for trying to have a conversation with a drunk Archie. 

“Well, Jughead was on my flight. His sister lives in LA, so he was heading home after visiting her for the holidays.” There’s a slight pause whilst Betty decides how much she wants to tell him. (Archie, much like Veronica, has a habit of getting very invested in Betty’s love life, especially since it’s non-existent.) “We actually met before the flight, in the airport.”

She’s grateful and honestly a bit surprised when Archie’s only answer is, “Huh.” Betty’s been examining her nails as she speaks, but at Archie’s response she drags her gaze back to him and finds that his eyes are locked on something inside the apartment. Oh. Go figure. 

“Josie?” she guesses. Archie meets her eyes again, looking a little sheepish. Betty merely shakes her head with the smallest hint of a smile on her lips. “Go on.”

With that Betty watches as her friend disappears into the house to find his fellow music major-slash-hookup. She turns her back to the party, alone once more. (It’s not so bad, though. She’d rather be alone than in a room full of people, most of whom she doesn’t even know.)

It only takes Betty a few minutes to convince herself to just get an Uber to pick her up. Veronica will understand. Plus, there’s a report Betty could be working on right now. Better to do that than stand outside in the cold doing nothing at all. 

She makes her way back into the crowded apartment, sidestepping people and empty beer cans. Betty catches sight of Veronica out of the corner of her eye and stops in her tracks, debating whether or not to tell her friend in person that she’s leaving or just text her. Betty’s complete and utter focus on her dilemma and her decision to start walking again while her head is in the clouds is the perfect combination for disaster. She hits the ground before even realizing that she bumped into something—or someone. There’s a hand reaching out to her and she takes it, head pounding from the music pouring out of the speakers someone set up. It takes her a second to recognize the person who picked her up. Blue eyes, black hair, one-of-a-kind beanie—

“Jughead!” 

His eyes flicker over her face, over her outfit, and there’s a hint of amusement in his voice when he responds. “Betty. Fancy meeting you here.”

Betty sighs, whole body relaxing. “Yeah, Veronica said it’d be fun. I wouldn’t say it has been, though.” She drops her gaze, feeling almost bashful, and looks up at Jughead through her eyelashes. “At least so far.”

It might have been a flirty or romantic moment if Betty hadn’t been practically screaming to be heard over the music. It’s going to be impossible to talk in here, she realizes. “Should we…?” She nods toward the balcony, hoping that Jughead either heard her or can interpret what she’s saying by her gesture. 

Jughead nods, barely perceptible, and follows Betty out to the balcony. To her relief Betty finds that the couple that was devouring each other earlier is gone. That was awkward enough when she came out here by herself. But witnessing it knowing Jughead was right behind her and risking possibly thinking about Jughead and his lips and his lips on hers—

And now she’s thinking about it. Great. 

It’s chilly out on the balcony, and Betty folds her arms against her chest to get at least a semblance of warmth. The criss cross lace neckline of her shirt is cute but is really not helping to keep out the cold. She hopes her teeth aren’t chattering when she says, “What about you? What brings you here?”

“I was actually just coming in to grab my keys,” he explains. “I tried my best to avoid the party but I just can’t say no to you, Betty Cooper.” His smile is almost shy. 

She’s apologizing even before she processes that second part of his reply. “Oh gosh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t realize you were just coming and going.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. I didn’t anticipate bumping into you. My night of brooding over a cup of coffee can wait.” There’s a hint of a smile on his lips.

“Is that what you usually do when Reggie has a party?” Her tone is teasing, but it’s a legitimate question. 

He shoots her one of his crooked smiles before replying, and Betty is stuck by how much she’s missed that little nuance of his. “You guessed it.”

They fall into a comfortable silence, both gazing out at the view below. It’s about half past eleven, Betty assumes, and the deep blue sky (it isn’t quite black because of light pollution, Betty knows) has been sinking its fingertips into the world below for several hours already. It still amazes Betty how much life there is in the city, even this late at night. It’s no wonder New York City is dubbed “the city that never sleeps.” There’s always something going on in New York, no matter the time of day. 

It doesn’t take long for Betty to realize that Jughead’s eyes are no longer on the street below but on her. She raises an eyebrow at him, curious, and Betty swears Jughead blushes before saying, “You look nice.”

She could say something like, _so do you_ , or, _I know_ , but both of those things seem too cliché and not her. She allows herself a beat to bask in the complement, however. “Really? Honestly, I think it’s a bit much.”

“No, it’s nice, really. Just...not you.” The second the words come out of his mouth Jughead grimaces. “Sorry. I didn’t mean...how would I know? I’ve only ever seen you at the airport.” He smiles slightly at this. 

“It’s okay,” she assures him. “You’re right.” She opens her mouth, closes it, and then turns to him fully. “You said something about a cup of coffee?”

He stares at her blankly for a second—just a second—before he seems to remember what he’d said earlier. “Yeah. Usually when Reggie throws these parties, I escape to a little coffee shop a few blocks from here. It’s a lot quieter and more pleasant than this—” he waves his arm in the direction of the door “—trust me.” It only takes him a beat to realize what Betty was really saying with her comment about the coffee. “You wanna…?”

“I knew you’d be a good detective,” she teases, and a little thrill shoots up her spine at Jughead’s almost-smirk. “Let’s get out of here.”

His smile fades in about three seconds, though. “Wait. I don’t own a car. Unless you do, or you want to walk in those…” he nods at her heels. 

She frowns. “I thought you said earlier that you were stopping by to grab your keys.”

“For my motorcycle,” he confirms. _Oh._ Maybe he _is_ one of those Danny Zuko types. Betty bites her cheek to tamper down her blush. Thankfully, Jughead doesn’t seem to notice. “I only have one helmet, and I’d gladly lend it to you but I’d like to keep my head intact as well.” 

Betty glances at her feet, one of which she’s sure there’s already a blister forming on. God, why did she agree to wear these? “We can walk. I’ll be fine.”

Jughead doesn’t look convinced. “You sure? I don’t have a habit of wearing high heels but I’m sure they hurt like hell.”

Betty _really_ wants to leave this party and all of the noise but she can’t bring herself to lie to him again. “I’m not sure,” she admits, cracking a small smile for good measure. 

Jughead’s eyebrows furrow and he exhales through his nose, and Betty watches as his eyes unfocus as he thinks. He opens his mouth but then seems to cut himself off. “Wait, would you be willing to ride a motorcycle if we both had helmets? I know some people think they’re dangerous or whatnot.” At her approving nod, he offers his solution. “I’m going to go find my friend and ask to borrow his helmet.” There’s a slight pause before he continues, “Do you wanna come or stay out here?”

“I’ll come with you.” She’s honestly freezing out here and it’d be a relief to head back inside, insanely loud music or no. 

They weave their way around groups of people and as Betty brushes past someone she narrowly avoids a disaster involving a full cup of beer and her nice new shirt. She considers grabbing Jughead’s hand when she almost loses him in the crowd, but after finding him a beat later she decides to save herself from the embarrassment of such a decision. Not that she wouldn’t want to hold his hand. He’s got nice hands, big ones with long, nimble fingers—

And there she goes again. It’s actually quite embarrassing, the lengths her mind goes to fantasize about Jughead Jones. 

Jughead finds his friend—the one who supposedly has a motorcycle helmet they can borrow—surprisingly fast in such a dense crowd. But the man that turns around when Jughead yells, “Hey, Sweets,” over the pounding bass is the kind of guy who’d be quite easy to spot in a crowd. He’s tall, for one, even taller than Jughead (whom Betty guesses is about six feet tall to her five foot six) and is wearing a black leather jacket with a snake insignia across the back. He’s got a piercing gaze and sleek black hair that’s curled against his forehead. It’s a different kind of curl than Jughead’s—the latter’s is looser and falls against the right side of his face. This man’s, on the other hand, is a perfect curl in the middle of his forehead, very Superman-like. 

“What’s up, Jug?” Betty’s standing partially behind Jughead, because, no lie, she’s kind of intimidated by this man and the others next to him, wearing identical jackets. (She’s not _afraid_ of them, but growing up in Alice Cooper’s house and hearing horror stories of the gang on the other side of Riverdale, she’s always been a bit weary of gang members. And these guys, with their matching jackets that read Southside Serpents, might just be gang members. But if they’re friends of Jughead’s, maybe they’re not so bad.) 

The other guys nod at Jughead, almost like they’re bowing to him, and Betty is thoroughly confused. Jughead doesn’t seem fazed, however. “I need to borrow your helmet for a bit,” he says to his friend. 

The man, whom Jughead had called _Sweets_ —what kind of name is that?—cocks an eyebrow. “What d’ya need mine for? You’ve got your own.”

Jughead glances behind him, at Betty, and before he can respond his friend’s gaze follows his and he stares incredulously at Betty. “It’s for her, isn’t it!” He elbows the guy next to him, laughing. “Fangs, do you believe it? The king finally found his queen!”

Instead of rolling his eyes like Betty expected, Jughead glances at his friend warningly like he’s just said something he wasn’t supposed to. It doesn’t take him long to shake off the look, though. “Sweet Pea, this is Betty. Betty, Sweet Pea. Sweets, she’s the one I met a few months ago on the way back from visiting JB.”

Betty can’t resist the blush that creeps up her neck at the knowledge that he’s told his friends about her. “Nice to meet you,” she says, the signature Cooper grin falling easily into place. She shakes Sweet Pea’s hand and banishes her irrational nervousness. Jughead looks slightly on edge, like he’s preparing himself for another suggestive comment from his friend, so Betty speaks up to prevent one. “Neither of us are big party fans so Jughead offered to drive us to a coffee shop where we can catch up.”

There’s still a smirk on Sweet Pea’s lips, but miraculously he doesn’t say whatever he’s thinking. “Sounds like a good idea. Jug, my bike’s outside. Grab my helmet and have fun.” He winks at Betty, and she can tell it isn’t in a flirty way but rather has everything to do with what the situation looks like—the two of them leaving the party. Together. Alone. 

Jughead huffs like he’s relieved to finally get away from that conversation. “Great. Thanks, Sweets.” He turns around to find Betty and exhales like he’s about to apologize. “I saw you noticed their jackets.” When Betty blushes instead of replying, embarrassed that he noticed her hesitation toward his friends, he shrugs. “It’s fine. They...we were part of a gang in high school. Not a violent one,” he clarifies. “My dad was the leader at one point so I kind of had to take over when he left the gang. But I’m not dangerous, I promise.” 

He pauses after this, hesitant, and it gives Betty some time to think about what he just told her. He had to take over a _gang_ when he was in high school? Betty finds that instead of feeling wary—as Alice Cooper would want her to feel, knowing she’s about to be alone in the company of a former gang leader—sympathy floods her heart for Jughead. God, what kind of childhood did this man have? 

Jughead looks slightly afraid for her reaction, but at her reassuring smile he returns the look and starts for the door. He stops in his tracks a beat later, however, and turns to Betty, face apologetic. “Sorry. Need to go grab my keys really quick.”

She shakes her head slightly to let him know it’s okay—really, he needs to stop apologizing to her. “Mind if I come with?”

He hesitates, and she’s about to take it back when he cracks a grin. “Not at all. I don’t think I’d be able to find you again when I got back down here.”

They push through the crowd once again and he leads her down the hallway. His is the last door on the left, and his hand closes around the door handle but doesn’t turn it. It’s then that Betty notices the sign on the door, taped up haphazardly and written in blue Sharpie: _Do NOT Enter_. Jughead’s head whips up, gaze finding hers. “If I find someone in here…” She doesn’t miss the way he grimaces as the handle turns. 

A quick scan of the room confirms there’s no one hooking up in his bed (thank God—Betty doesn’t think she could handle that any better than he could) and he grabs his helmet and keys off his desk quickly. He turns back to the door and Betty steps back into the hallway to make room for him but he pauses when his gaze falls back onto her. Jughead turns on his heels and this time, he roots through his closet before emerging with a jacket similar to the one he’s wearing—a dark blue sherpa jacket with a wool lining. “I’m guessing you don’t have a jacket,” he says. “You’ll need one on the bike, trust me.” 

“Thank you,” she replies, taking the jacket gratefully and slipping it on. She hadn’t even considered needing a jacket, even though she’d had a taste of the chilly February air while on the balcony. 

Neither of them speak as they head out to the street where Sweet Pea’s motorcycle is parked. Jughead’s stride is long and quick, and even though Betty has long legs and was on track for several years in high school she has to pick up her pace to keep up with him. He grabs Sweet Pea’s helmet off of the seat and clips it into his own head before handing her his helmet. “Thought you’d rather wear my helmet than a complete stranger’s. Both my hair and my hat are washed regularly, I promise.”

She takes the helmet from him with a chuckle. “I believe you.” Turning the helmet over in her hands, she catches sight of a little gold crown painted on the front—possibly a symbol of his past status as leader of the gang he was talking about. The crown gives the otherwise plain black helmet some character, and Betty likes the simplicity of it. The smallest of smiles makes its way onto Betty’s face as she clips the helmet onto her head. 

She follows Jughead to the parking garage, where he swings his leg over his own bike and turns back to Betty. “Hop on,” he says. (Betty allows herself a defiant smile. If only Alice Cooper could see her now.) It’s all fine and dandy until he revs the engine and Betty realizes she has no idea where to hold on. In every movie and show she’s ever seen, the girl always wraps her arms around the guy’s waist, but she isn’t sure if they’re at a point in their relationship where she can do that. But where else is she supposed to hold on? Fisting his jacket seems just plain weird, and not holding on at all is _not_ an option. 

Thankfully, Jughead seems to sense her hesitation and doesn’t start driving. “You can put your arms around my waist. It’s probably the safest option.”

She does as he says, wrapping her arms around him and pulling herself to him. With that, Jughead pulls out of the parking garage and starts for the coffee shop. Wind bites at her cheeks as they ride and she’s eternally thankful for the jacket Jughead lent her and its soft wool encasing her body. (Her legs are still cold, though, but she’s not complaining. She’s grateful for Jughead’s generosity.)

The lights of Manhattan blur as they speed down the street. He doesn’t seem to be driving faster than any of the cars or more recklessly, to Betty’s relief. It’s probably the lack of protection around her, like she has in her car, that’s throwing Betty off. It’s not a bad feeling, though. Just different. If anything, it’s more freeing. (But that doesn’t mean she’s going to start riding motorcycles anytime soon. Oh no. That would give her mother a heart attack—which she doesn’t want, no matter how much her mother irks her sometimes—and would destroy that picture-perfect image she’s got going on, which she’s actually less worried about at this point.)

They pull up to the coffee shop in a matter of minutes, a quaint place adorned with an awning and a sign reading _Manhattan Mocha_ in cursive font. There’s no parking lot, so Jughead simply squeezes in between a beat-up Eurovan and a BMW with stickers all over the inside of the backseat windows. Betty hops off the motorcycle (less gracefully than Jughead did, that’s for sure) and hands the helmet back to its owner. Jughead doesn’t reach out to take it, instead shaking his head. “Hold onto it for a second,” he tells her, pocketing his keys and nodding toward the door. 

“Wait,” Betty says, just now noticing the lack of movement or light inside the coffee shop. “I think it’s closed.”

Jughead’s gaze lands on the neon _Open_ sign, which, of course, is not lit up. “Shit.” He laughs humorlessly. “I’m sorry. I kind of forgot how late it is.”

Betty doesn’t blame him. She had forgotten too, to be honest, the music at the party making her head feel like it was stuffed with cotton balls and giving her a bit of a headache. She hadn’t noticed it until now, but her head is still pounding and she kind of just wants to go home. “It’s fine, really. I…” She grimaces, not wanting to leave but feeling like she’d rather catch up with him when her head doesn’t feel fuzzy. (She also might be dying of hypothermia. New York gets chilly after dark and her legs are still exposed to the elements.) “Do you think you could just drive me home? I’m sorry, I...I don’t mean to complain, but I’m pretty cold and my head kind of hurts.”

Jughead exhales and grimaces like he can’t believe he didn’t consider that Betty might be tired or uncomfortable or something. (To be fair, she’d agreed to coming to the coffee shop, and it’s really not his fault that Reggie turned the music up so high or that Betty didn’t wear the proper clothing for spending time outside. He’s been nothing less than a gentleman tonight, offering her his coat and helmet.) “Of course. I...yeah, of course.” He clasps the helmet back onto his head and Betty does the same. “Where do you live?”

“It’s not far from here. The Pembrooke Apartments, on 15th.” Betty hugs her arms over her chest and rocks back on her feet. Great, there’s _definitely_ a blister forming on her right foot. She curses herself internally for not wearing heels more often, to get used to the feel of them. “I have a key to the apartment, don’t worry. I just don’t want to walk there.” She sticks out one of her feet for emphasis. 

Jughead shakes his head. “Of course not. Like I said earlier, I can’t imagine how painful those are to walk in.” He grimaces again, but at Betty’s little chuckle of agreement it stretches into a smile. 

They’re back at Betty’s apartment in no time, and when Jughead rolls to a stop and hops off the bike, his gaze travels up the building, eyes wide. “Wow. Veronica lives here with you, right? Reggie told me Veronica was something of a socialite, but I didn’t imagine she was the princess of New York City.” 

Still not exactly sure how Jughead gets off the bike so elegantly, Betty scoots off carefully and comes up next to him, blushing slightly as she takes in the building. “Yeah, she basically is. And I feel so bad that she doesn’t make me pay rent that I give her some of it every month anyway.”

He turns to her, amused. “I’d like to say I’d do the same thing, but I don’t have the money or the persistence for that, to be honest.” The lights overhead are framing his face, and in that moment Betty catches a glimpse of the kid he used to be, the one shaped from his father’s disease and his mother’s abandonment. It’s gone in a beat and the man she knows is before her—the one took the hand dealt to him and turned his life around—smiling fondly. “You’re too stubborn for your own good, Betty Cooper.”

She sighs, unable to resist the grin that breaks out on her face. It’s not an insult when he says it like that, all soft and fond. Plus, there’s no denying it’s true. “I know. It’s my greatest flaw.”

He shrugs, shoulders rising and falling like the tide. “I wouldn’t say it’s a flaw, exactly. And you’re not alone.”

They lock eyes once more, mirroring each other’s soft smiles, and in that moment Betty is sure that she’s completely and utterly in love with Jughead Jones. And it’s one of the best things to ever happen to her. It’s one of the best decisions she ever made, albeit an unconscious decision. 

Fate, she thinks. Maybe there _is_ some element of fate that exists. Maybe the world is a mix of fate and choice, yin and yang, light and dark. She thinks of _Ratatouille_ and how Remy the rat mixes flavors to create something new, something amazing. (And yes, she’s aware she just related some deep idea to a children’s movie—it’s a good movie, and she’s secretly still a Disney girl at heart. Sue her.) She thinks about how, when she bakes, none of the ingredients are very good on their own, but when they all come together a delicious, airy muffin or a chewy, chocolate-y cookie is born. Life is a perfect but also not-so perfect blend of everything that exists. It’s just the way it is. 

The sky is the deepest blue she’s ever seen and it mesmerizes her for a beat. Jughead’s standing beside her, lost in thought as well. “Good night, Jughead,” Betty says finally, slipping out of the jacket and removing the helmet. He takes both from her and lays them on the seat of his motorcycle before turning back to her, inky black hair spilling out from underneath his hat in the absence of his own helmet. 

It seems as though Jughead realizes it’s his last chance to say something before they go their separate ways. “Betty, I…” Something shifts in his face then, and that split second of hesitation is gone, replaced by resolve. “I don’t have a habit of asking this after practically only two days, but can I kiss you?”

Betty finds herself saying, “Please,” before she can even process that _yes_ , this is what she wants, more than anything. 

She read enough romance novels in her teens to know what’s expected when you kiss a certain person for the first time. They always describe how it’s a heart-stopping experience. But Betty’s heart doesn’t stop or skip a beat or anything like that. It continues its rhythmic pulsing, and it’s her mind that stops, everything but Jughead and the press of his mouth pushed away to some far corner like her brain is creating a new space for the feeling. His lips are pillowy and oh-so soft, she finds, and the warmth of his mouth sends jolts down to her toes. 

His hands are on either side of her face, cupping her jaw, and Betty likes that she can feel the slight roughness to them. It’s more real that way. It feels less like a fantasy and more like a possibility. Betty’s fingers thread through the downy hair at the nape of his neck and at that slight tug Jughead makes a sound that’s almost a whimper, mouth tilting against hers and body shifting closer. 

The kiss is soft and slow and not the fiery, mind-shattering kiss she’s read about. But they have plenty of time for those kind of kisses, she knows. This one is perfect in its own way—Betty feels more at peace than she ever has, and she really couldn’t care less about her headache or her freezing legs or that blister on her foot when Jughead’s lips are moving gently against hers, their hearts beating as one. 

When they part, her lips curl involuntarily. It takes a second for her eyes to flutter open again—she doesn’t want to be brought back to reality and risk shattering that one, perfect moment. When they do, Jughead’s still there in front of her, and she finds that it was pointless to be afraid of facing reality. That _was_ reality; this _is_ reality. Jughead Jones kissed her, and she kissed him back. 

Jughead’s cheeks are flushed from more than just the cold, Betty finds. His gaze is almost bashful when it meets hers. “The first of many, I hope.”

Betty exhales, the air leaving her in a giddy sigh. “Me too.” The memory of his lips is fresh in her mind, beating alongside her heart. Everything she feels is reflected in the clear blue of his eyes. It’s all she’s thinking about as she makes her way to her apartment, not even caring when her next-door neighbor Ginger raises an amused eyebrow at Betty’s giddy smile as they pass in the hallway. 

She texts him the next morning, curled up under her comforter and wondering what it would be like to wake up with Jughead beside her. _Are you free next Saturday evening?_

Jughead’s reply comes just a few minutes later, and she smiles at the little crown emoji next to his name. _Of course. I hope you like pizza, because Saturday evenings are my designated “order pizza and watch movies” evenings._ There’s a second text reading _They’re usually Tarantino movies but I’d be up for something else if satire isn’t your thing. Or watching movies made by directors who are total assholes._

 _Hmm_ , she replies. _Pick one you think I’d like and on Saturday we’ll see if you were right. And as for the pizza, I’d be wary of someone who doesn’t like pizza._

 _A girl after my own heart_ , his response reads. Betty can’t resist the laugh that bubbles up out of her throat. _It’s a date._

_The first of many, I hope._ She parrots his statement from the day before, and his subsequent reply assures her that yes, this is the first of many dates, the first of many kisses, the first of many memories. 

_The first of many._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there you have it, folks! Our journey has come to an end. I had so much fun writing this little story about Betty and Jug’s misadventures, and I hope you had just as much fun reading it! :)
> 
> A special thank you to my beta-reader, who’s an amazing friend and who really makes me feel good about my work. Love you <3
> 
> And, of course, thank all of you for reading! Even though it hasn’t been that long (only about a month lol) it’s been really amazing logging on to see all of the encouraging and sweet comments! You guys are the coolest. Seriously. We’re so lucky that this fandom is made up of some super nice (and talented) people. xoxo
> 
> Also, I’m totally not sorry for doing the same thing with the hanging-out-at-a-coffee-shop trope that I did with the fake-marriage trope. I’m just such a trickster. *evil laugh*
> 
> Yes, I added yet another Disney reference. Can you blame me? I’m a huge Disney nerd, and sometimes I just _have_ to project myself onto my characters. :)
> 
> Thank you guys so much for reading to the end, and I can’t wait to see you again on our next adventure! Ta ta *kisses*


End file.
